


Cantabo Iterum

by Garrulous_Gratuitous



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 61,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6236962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garrulous_Gratuitous/pseuds/Garrulous_Gratuitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hero of Ferelden died (like a good and proper Warden should) at the end of the events of DA:O.  Ten years after the crushing loss of her love, will the Nightingale sing again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> I've been on this kick to platinum trophy my favorite games. Dragon Age in all of its incarnations and DLC's have made this task nearly Herculian (especially Origins). Needless to say, I've subjected the Hero of Ferelden to as many incarnations and terrible fates as digitally possible.
> 
> I decided after my last play through to take the road less traveled and kill off my Hero. It changed the entire context of DA:I. And since Leliana is one of my favorite characters - I decided that I would try my hand at the "2nd Love" / "December-December" romance trope and see how it goes for me. This will be a bit of a challenge since I prefer writing action than writing (ack - gag) romance but I'll never grow as a writer if I don't try out different things.
> 
> SO!!!! This fic goes off canon only in the fact that the Inquisitor and her Spymaster hook up (but totally under cover). IF you play through and do not romance any characters on your way through DA:I and carefully listen to the dialogue and watch the scenes - one could see where one could get such an idea of a discrete entanglement/relationship. In fact, I'll most likely take this all the way through Trespasser.
> 
> For those of you who are already upset that your Hero died. Please try to remember, you also played the Inquisitor and pretend that reincarnation exists in video games. If that's the case, the Hero of Ferelden is alive and well in your actions as the Inquisitor. So, let go of your hold on your own version of cannon and come frolic with me in mine.
> 
> Those reading my other works - hahaha - relax I'm not leaving Shep and Liara where they are at right now. I just need to have something else going on so that when I hit these nasty little 'blocks' in my willy-nilly, fly by the seat of my pants in the middle of the night, writing style - I can put my brain elsewhere so that my subconscious will work out the kinks.
> 
> Anyhow - enough from me. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer - there is no way I make money from this. I can't even make money on my own writing yet. This is just for fun and fandom.

* * *

 

            “He betrayed us! He murdered my agent.”

            The Herald crossed her arms and leaned on one hip, “And you’d kill him, just for that?”

            “You find fault with my decision?” she snapped her retort. It was a challenge, an accusation. She pinned Trevelyan with a cold stare. _Choose your next words wisely, Herald._

            She knew the Ostwick noble had never been introduced to the Game. But, much to her credit, the marksman didn’t even flinch at her words. Instead, Trevelyan’s eyes softened despite the daggers coming from Leliana’s own.

            “I’m sure most of your decisions are fine. But that one? Little extreme.” She replied plainly, almost playfully.

            Despite the easy tone, the words struck deep.

            “I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.”  

            “Now is precisely the time for ideals.”

            She instantly regretted the momentary loss of control. She cursed herself inwardly. It was the second time Trevelyan’s words had struck true, throwing her off her guard and eliciting emotional responses. _Am I losing my touch?_

            “You feel very strongly about this? Very well. I will find another way to deal with this man.” She turned her attention back to her agent. “Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives.”

            Leliana looked back at Trevelyan, who was watching the scout leave with a subtle smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. At that moment, she saw the nobility in the Free Marcher’s features. An old, nearly alien feeling flooded through her breast as she took in the elegant profile. As quickly as it had come, the warmth of pleasure changed to guilt as the Herald turned her head, nearly catching her.

            “Now, if you are happy, I have work to do.”

            She could have sworn the Herald’s smile imperceptibly grew bigger. Trevelyan inclined her head, “Of course. At your leave.”

            Leliana rolled her eyes and turned back to her desk, pretending to study the reports in front of her. When she knew it was safe, she glanced sideways and followed the confidant swing of the Herald’s leather clad hips until she disappeared behind the heavy wood doors of Haven’s chantry.

            “Maker help me,” she whispered as a feeling of loss swept over her.

            ***

            As was her custom, Leliana stayed late at her post. There was so very little information about what happened at the conclave and even more vexing was the fact that the one witness to Justinia’s death, couldn’t recall anything about it. Someone knew something. She simply needed to look harder.

            The chantry was quiet when she entered. All the priests and refugees had retired for the night and Leliana was left alone with the smoldering fires and dwindling candles to light her way to the room she shared with Josephine. Normally, she would have stopped and offered a quiet prayer but the day had left her and her faith as hollow as the now echoing tabernacle.

            Pushing open the heavy oak door, she noticed that her old friend was still awake and burning the midnight oil. Despite an initial hope that Josie was asleep, she found the sight of the woman pouring over missives comforting in its own way.

            “Still hard at work I see,” she said.

            Josie looked up from the papers scattered on her bed. She had forgotten how beautiful the Antivan was, when she wasn’t perfectly coiffed in ridiculously ruffled Orlesian fashion.

            “Well, it is work but it ‘tis not hard. I’ve received reports from a friend in Ostwick. It would seem Lady Trevelyan was right. Her family jockeys for power as much as any Orlesian noble.”

            “Oh?” Leliana asked as she drew back her hood and began to ready herself for bed.

            Josephine nodded with a smile, “Though their tactics are what one would expect from the Free Marches: blunt and lacking finesse.”

            “But you do not think the same of her?” She said noticing the slight smile playing over Josie’s lips.

            “At first I thought ‘perhaps’ but after today, I am not so sure. She handled the Marquis DuRellion artfully,” she replied before telling the whole of the story to the spymaster. When she had finished, she said: “Even if she doesn’t turn out to be the Herald, she would make a fine diplomat.”

            “And do you?” Leliana asked pulling back the heavy blankets on her bed.

            Josephine frowned, “Do I what?”

            “Think she is the Herald of Andraste?”

            “I- I don’t know. I was hoping that you might have some insight on that.”

            “Why?” Leliana demanded, more harshly than she intended.

            “Because you have experience with this sort of thing,” Josie replied carefully. “You and Cassandra were there when she stepped from the Fade. You were the first ones to talk to her.”

            Leliana took a few breaths to calm her nerves. She chastised herself for lashing out at Josie. More than anyone, Josephine knew the pain and loss she carried. She had spent some months after the Hero’s death at the Montilyet holdings in Antiva. During that time, Josie had been a consummate friend and companion. She sighed.

            “I’m sorry, Josie. I didn’t-”

            “No need to apologize,” Josie replied graciously but just as eagerly asked: “But, do you think she is?”

            She thought about it for a moment. Should she tell Josephine all that she had seen at the Temple of Sacred Ashes? Even as she went over the details in her own mind, she couldn’t be sure if what she saw was what _actually_ occurred.

            _“I thought I was chosen once…”_

            “Honestly, I don’t know. I know what Cassandra and I saw, but if it was Andraste or even the hand of the Maker…I don’t know. The Maker can be cruel…” she trailed off, looking down at her hands in her lap.

            “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

            She could hear the disappointment in Josie’s voice and then she heard Justinia’s voice from a distant memory:

            _“If we lose hope, Leliana, then we have lost the one weapon in which the Maker gave us to fight against evil and tyranny. Faith is the foundation of our hope. Without it - all is lost, all is darkness.”_

            Seeing Josephine’s cautiously optimistic look, she wondered if believing that Trevelyan was Andraste’s Herald was too idealistic.

            _“Now is precisely the time for ideals.”_

            Leliana took a deep breath. She remembered her art. She remembered her story. Now if only she could remember hope.

            “Cassandra and I had been arguing over Hawke and the events of Kirkwall when we heard the blast. It was deafening…”


	2. Temple of Sacred Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I really have nothing to say except - 
> 
> Enjoy.

* * *

       “He is lying to us, Leliana.”

       “You don’t know that for sure, Cassandra.”

       The Seeker looked over at her wryly, “How long did you say you played the Game?”

       Leliana laughed, “Just because _you_ think Varric is lying doesn’t necessarily mean he is.”

       “Hawke and Varric are as thick as thieves. Don’t let the charming dwarf and his honeyed words deceive you. He knows where the Champion of Kirkwall is hiding,” Cassandra finished confidently.

       Leliana turned in her saddle, glancing back at the subject of their conversation. The roguish entrepreneur sat in the back of a wagon, his head bobbing with each jostle and dip. To her, his demeanor was not one of duplicity. He simply looked how she felt: shocked and resigned.

       Kirkwall had been a blood bath and now the chaos of the Mage rebellion threatened to spill over into all of Thedas. She had a sneaking suspicion that Varric hadn’t understood the seriousness of the situation until the Hands of the Divine received her urgent missive.

       _The news is worse than we had thought. I have called a conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Join me as soon as possible._ _–_ _Dorothea_

       That had been nearly a fortnight ago. They would have departed Kirkwall sooner, if Cassandra hadn’t insisted on bringing Varric to speak with the Divine. Varric, for his part, had not made leaving the Free Marches easy. He’d called in a lot of favors to shut down the port for nearly four days. Leliana had to admit, she was impressed. Not many could mire the Left and Right Hand of the Divine in bureaucracy.

       “You know, Cassandra, I-”

       Her words were cut off as she was hurled bodily from her mount. A second later, an earsplitting blast echoed through the canyon. Chaos descended upon them. She landed hard. The rocky ground knocking the air from her lungs as dark stars exploded into her vision.

       “Leliana!”

       She could hear concern in Cassandra’s muffled cry. Opening her eyes, she saw the Seeker reaching out to her. Groaning, she took the proffered hand.

       “Are you okay?” She could barely hear the question over the ringing in her ears. She nodded.

       “What happened?” she asked her own voice scarcely audible to herself.

       Cassandra shook her head and began checking on the rest of their escort. Looking around, most of their people had not suffered any life threatening injuries. She was about to say a small prayer of thanks when she saw Varric approaching quickly, the fear evident on his face. She caught his attention and with a look, wordlessly asked what the trouble was – he simply pointed above the scorched tops of the tree line towards the giant, swirling vortex in the sky - directly over the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Gross fear for her friend, the Divine struck deep into her heart.

       _Maker, NO!_

       Spotting a rider less horse and without a second thought, she bolted towards the mount, swung herself up into the saddle and spurred the animal into a heedless full gallop.

       She covered the last few miles in record speed, although to her, every second was longer than the last. When the horse finally pulled up short at the edge of the Temple grounds, the devastation was worse than she could have imagined:

       Rubble and broken walls were all that remained of the once hallowed space. The sickly green energy of the Fade colored added to the disconcerting haze. Injured soldiers, guards and workers hobbled around calling out for friends and loved ones. Gore slicked the ground. The smell of sulfur, smoke and death filled the air. There was nothing left but a gaping hole in the ground and sky.

       Leliana dismounted in shock. She held onto the reigns to steady herself as her legs threatened to give out, “No…”

       “Clear the way!” She heard Cassandra’s command from behind her, “Where is she? Where is the Divine?”

       She offered up silent gratitude for the Seeker’s unwavering devotion to her duty and then kicked herself for allowing the urgency of the moment to distract her from her own. She was the Divine’s left hand; her eyes and ears. She had failed her. She had failed her friend!

       _Just like you failed Elissa!_ Her inner voice screamed.

       “Leliana,” Cassandra pulled her from her stupor, “Where is Divine Justinia?”

       She shook her head slightly, words still failing her even as her own mind screamed insult and obscenity.

       “Seeker! Sister Nightingale!” A young guard limped quickly towards them.

       “Captain, report! What happened?” Cassandra turned to the wounded young man.

       “I-I don’t know Seeker. My squad and I were patrolling the perimeter when the heavens were torn open. Maker help me! I couldn’t save them! I couldn’t save my men!”

       “Where is the Divine?” Cassandra ground out. Leliana could tell it was all the Nevarran could do not to grab the distraught officer by his throat and throttle him.

       “The conclave had just assembled. I-I think she was in the grand hall,” he managed between panicked breathes.

       Noticing the increasing frustration radiating from her counterpart, Leliana pulled herself back together.

       “Captain, find everyone who is able and organize a search. I want every stone turned and every corner scoured for survivors,” Leliana said. Looking around she saw that the storage cellar had escaped the destruction. “If anyone knows anything, you send them to me.”

       “At your command,” the guard bowed; the prospect of purpose pulling him from his descent as he hurried off shouting orders.

       “I know you are super busy right now Seeker,” Varric said coming up beside Cassandra, “But is there anything I can do to help?”

       “You’ve helped enough. I suspect we wouldn’t be in this position if you had been more forthcoming,” Cassandra replied.

       “Or…you would be dead,” the dwarf offered.

    The Seeker let out a disgusted, vexed sigh. “If you want to help take Solas, see if he can’t figure out what that flaming green ball of… - just figure out what it is.”

       The dwarf gave something between a bow and a dismissive shake of the head and started east towards the massive, pulsating void in the sky. He waved towards the elven mage they had picked up just outside of the Free Marches and both started a lonely walk towards the unknown.

       Cassandra turned towards her. The Seeker opened her mouth to speak but Leliana raised a hand.

       “No. We won’t discuss this until we know _exactly_ what happened,” she hesitated, “Or, at least until we know what happened to her.”

       Cassandra simply nodded. She could see that her fears were shared. She opened her mouth to speak again when she felt a thrumming vibration through the air.

       A shudder,

              A tremor,.

                     An explosion.

       “Maker help us! It’s Andraste!”

            ***


	3. In the beginning

* * *

 

                There were many things that caused fear and consternation in Thedas. Most of the big, bad things that terrified the populous could find their roots back to one thing in particular; the Fade.

                Rationally, Leliana knew that all things in life had two sides. Night and day, light and dark, life and death. The Fade was nothing more than the other side of corporeal existence. But, despite this knowledge, she found herself sharing in the collective apprehension as she stared at the impossible - a living, breathing human that had stepped from the essence of eternity.

                “Do you see her hand?” Cassandra asked quietly.

                Leliana nodded.

                “It is the left hand,” the Seeker intoned seriously.

                Leliana nodded again. Cassandra looked at her impatiently. Maker bless her, she wanted answers - but heaven help her, Leliana had none.

                “What should we do?”

                Leliana said nothing as she ruminated:

                _“Here she is,” the Captain said nervously._

_“Is this who you saw?” Cassandra asked looking down at the limp body the two guards held between them. The guards nodded, “This is **not** Andraste.”_

_“W-we know, Seeker, but this is who stepped out.”_

_“Leave us,” Cassandra said simply. The two guards nodded and set the unknown woman down on the floor of the cellar. Leliana stayed out of the room. There was something amiss about the whole thing._

                “She is coming around,” the guard said.

                “Try not to kill her when she wakes?”

                “I can’t promise anything.”

                Leliana sighed, “You know not everything has to be solved with violence.”

                Cassandra looked wryly at her, “Says the bard who solves everything with violence.”

                Although she didn’t mean it harshly, still the words cut deep. She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Cassandra throwing open the door.

                As their prisoner lifted her head, the first thing Leliana noticed was how beautiful she was. There was an air of solace about her but not without a sense of bewilderment. From her left hand, the strange green energy erupted. Leliana stepped closer, seeing the pain that it caused. Cassandra held her back with a simple touch of her hand. Moving forward the Seeker leaned closer to the woman’s ear.

                “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you right now. The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.”

                To her credit, the woman remained silent.

                “Explain this,” Cassandra demanded, yanking the woman’s hand up. Green energy erupted and crackled, the Seeker tossed the appendage down like a defiled thing.

                “I-I can’t,” she replied, a Ferelden heritage evident in her accent.

                “What do you mean you can’t?!” the Seeker was becoming more impatient.

                Leliana moved behind the prisoner, in case her ‘talents’ were needed quickly. She enjoyed this part. The dance that she and Cassandra had developed over ten years of service.   They were effective. They were efficient. They were deadly. But she also knew the Seeker. Cassandra was growing impatient and irritated. Her position was as much for the benefit of the prisoner as it was an effective interrogation tool.

                “I don’t know what that is or how it got there-”

                Her confusion and bewilderment were authentic.

                “YOU’RE LYING!” The Seeker shoved the prisoner back, readying a blow to the face.

                She caught the Seeker by the arm and pushed her backwards away from the defenseless woman, “We _need_ her Cassandra.”

                Leliana pushed her back nearly towards the door, when the prisoner spoke:

                “Whatever you think I did- I’m innocent.”

                “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

                It was now Cassandra’s turn to walk behind the prisoner. It was an effective practice: good interrogator, bad interrogator.

                “I remember…running, things chasing me and then…a woman?”

                “A woman?” Leliana folded her arms, interest peaked.

                “She reached out to me…but then?”

                Cassandra came around and stepped between Leliana and the prisoner. Her body language was enough. They didn’t have time for this. There were things more pressing than interrogating the prisoner. There was a hole, a rift in the sky and it threatened them all.

                “Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

                Leliana looked back for a long moment at the bewildered and understandably distraught woman. At that moment, in her spirit, she knew that their prisoner was not their culprit. A quick glance towards the Seeker and she saw the same understanding.

                With a nod and a prayer that the Seeker would be kind - Leliana left and headed towards the forward camp.

          ***

                “So,” Josephine smiled, “You think she is pretty?”

                “Is that all you got from this, Josie?”

                Her friend grinned amiably as she gathered up the papers that were on her bed and stacked them into a perfectly neat pile, “No…but I think it is an exciting plot twist.”

                “Because I think someone is pretty? I think you’re pretty. Beautiful, in fact, and this doesn’t thrill you.”

                “Yvette thinks I’m pretty, beautiful even, but should I be thrilled my sister has eyes?” Josephine winked.

                Leliana sighed, “You’re incorrigible. I have no interest in such things.”

                “I would beg to differ..” she began.

                “Josie,” she sighed, “You know whom my heart belongs to.”

                Josephine nodded solemnly, “I do. I also know that your heart belongs to the Maker.”

                “This is also true,” she replied, laying down.

                “Tell me, Leli. If you’re heart belongs to the Maker and it also belongs to the Warden, whom is at the Maker’s side - then tell me, what is that thing beating under your breast?”

                She was taken aback, “I-”

                Josephine blew out the remaining candle, “Sweet dreams, Leli.”  


	4. Eating Crow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> I've been in a quandary as to how to proceed with this fic. You see, we've all played the game. And I could write about the adventures and quests that we all did (and differently I might add) and then I would have writing fodder for weeks! And you would be oh so bored.
> 
> So, I decided that most of this will be told from nearly every other view point but the Inquisitor's (not saying it won't happen) but it is easier to suspend reality if I leave the 'quests' out and tell the tale from the NPC's POV. Of course, there will be references to different quests - just so we are all on the same page as to the time frame - but other than that, I'm going to try and do this like 'deleted cutscenes'.
> 
> Hopefully, this is agreeable. 
> 
> It now occurs to me that I should probably go play ME3 if I ever want to get an update on my other works. Thanks for your patience, my friend.
> 
> Without further hoopla,
> 
> Enjoy.

* * *

 

       “This might be a very short inquisition,” Leliana announced throwing open the door to Josie’s office, a wad of missives in her hand.

       “Why do you say that?” the ambassador asked, not looking up from her work.

       “Because of this!” Leliana held up the papers before tossing them unceremoniously onto Josephine’s desk. She began to pace as Josephine skimmed the documents.

       “What am I looking at?”

       “Those,” the spymaster replied turning on her heel and starting the opposite direction, “are every single communication I have received from the _Herald_ over the past week.”

       _“_ _Dear Spymaster - Does this thing work?_ _”_   Josephine read aloud, the look of confusion apparent.

       “That was the first response I received from her via messenger bird. When I wrote to assure her that the birds do, in fact, _work_ – I received the next one.”

       _“_ _Dear Spymaster_ _–_ _Indeed. Is it possible to use more distinctive birds? I think I shot one for dinner last night. If that isn_ _’_ _t doable, have you considered tying bells around their necks?_ _”_

            Josephine placed a hand over her mouth to hide the smile that threatened to erupt. Leliana cast a quick, disapproving look. Clearing her throat, the ambassador quickly shuffled the papers to the next communique:

            _“Dear Spymaster – Secured the King’s Highway. Looks like garbage, perhaps the Queen should have built it?”_

_“Dear Spymaster – Secured horses; feeling much more inquisitive, now that I don’t have to walk **everywhere**.”_

_“Dear Spymaster – About my title – ‘Herald’ sounds so **formal** – what do you think of Heri?-”_ Under the writing there were smudges, a jagged rip and then Cassandra’s heavy script: _“I took away the pen and the bird.”_

            Josephine giggled, “I don’t know. It sounds like Cassandra has it under control.”

            “That’s not the point, Josie.” Leliana sighed, “We declared an inquisition directly in the aftermath of the conclave. The Chantry, the Mages and the Templars - all of Thedas has their eyes on us. We need someone who can be taken seriously. Not some cheeky Free Marcher whose wit is sharper than her sense.”

            “Come now, Leli. You can’t assume that-” Josie admonished her.

            “Can’t I?” She demanded, “There is a hole in the sky that threatens to tear Thedas and all of existence apart and Trevelyan is cracking jokes. The Divine lies dead. The Chantry is in shambles and she acts as if nothing has happened! But, then again, what should I have expected from someone who has lost nothing?”

            Josie frowned at the outburst, “How do you know she has lost nothing?”

            Leliana dropped into an overstuffed chair and folded her arms across her chest, “Because if she had, she would not be acting this way.”

            “Oh? And what way would she be acting?”

            “I don’t know…serious? Anguished? Grieved? Not gallivanting around the Hinterlands sending me banal updates and one-liners.”

            Josephine picked up a stack of papers and began thumbing through them, “Ah, but you see Leli, that is how _you_ grieve. You know very well that you cannot expect the same from others or have you forgotten Elissa?”

            At the mention of her Warden’s name, a pang of loss ran through her. How could she ever forget? It had taken her months to realize that Elissa Cousland had born witness to the slaughtering of her family – simply because the Warden had an easy smile and a quick comeback.

            “No, I haven’t,” Leliana murmured softly. “Why do you ask?”

            “Because,” she replied, finding what she was looking for and pulling it free from the stack, “before Lady Trevelyan left, I asked if her family would support the Inquisition. She was ambivalent about contacting them. In fact, she differed to my judgment in what should be written. I received this yesterday.”

            Taking the proffered paper, Leliana began to read the flowing script:

            _“Dear Ambassador Montilyet,_

_Thank you for your letter. Please, allow me to offer the support and services of the Trevelyan family during this time of need. While, we are well pleased and happy to know that Evelyn is alive and shocked to learn of her calling by the Maker – we were wondering if there was word of her twin sister, Eloie?_

_Eloie was a knight-enchanter in training. We had sent Evelyn to ensure her safety at the conclave…”_

            “Oh no,” Leliana whispered having read enough. She looked up at Josie, “Is this true?”

            “I’m afraid so. I did some digging. The Trevelyan family has served the Circle and the Chantry for generations. In fact, the Trevelyan name appears in the records of the first Exalted March. Antipherus Trevelyan was one of Andraste’s most loyal captains.”

            “Antipherus? Are you telling me that the _martyr_ Antipherus is the Herald’s ancestor?” Leliana asked in disbelief.

            Josephine nodded, “So it would seem.”

            “You don’t think…” she asked, her eyes widening with the thought.

            “That perhaps she _is_ the Herald and that it is all a part of divine providence? Yes, the thought crossed my mind.”

            They both fell silent. Leliana’s frustration had been replaced by shame for thinking disparaging thoughts about the rogue. She should have known better than to allow her judgments to cloud her reason. Of course, there was a purpose to all of it. She shouldn’t have thought that it was all a joke to Trevelyan. She didn’t even know the woman. Who was she to draw such conclusions?

            “Have you decided how to respond to Lady Trevelyan’s parents?” Leliana asked quietly.

            Josephine shook her head, “No. I was hoping to talk with the Herald before I did.”

            She chewed the corner of her lip for a moment in thought before holding up the missive, “Would you mind terribly if I handled this?”

            The ambassador looked relieved, “Not at all. In fact, I think the news would be taken better if given by the Left Hand of the Divine.”

            Leliana nodded her agreement. From outside of the door, they could hear the excited shouts.

            “The Herald’s back! And she has brought horses!”

            They looked at each.

            “That’s my cue,” Leliana sighed, standing.

            “What’s your plan?”

            “I’m going to find out _who_ Trevelyan really is.”

            “And then?”

            “I’m going to help her fix the hole in the sky.”

            “And then?” Josie wiggled her eyebrows.

            Leliana sighed in mock disgust, “You really are incorrigible. You know this, yes?”

            “I’m not the one with a history and a hankering for leather clad rogues, facing insurmountable odds.”

            “One time, Josie! It happened one time! And look how it turned out,” Leliana’s patience was running thin.

            “Noted, but who says it would turn out like that again?”

            She knew her friend was simply trying to pull her from the shadows of the dark memories that clung to her spirit – but it was too much, too soon – wasn’t it?

            _If not after ten years, Leliana, when? Did you die with the Warden?_ She remembered Dorothea’s words. Taking a deep breath, willing the ghosts of haunted memories away, she started towards the door.

            _What does it matter?_ She replied silently. _You’re gone too. I just wish I had been with you._


	5. Arrows & Daggers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> How are we doing thus far? Is everyone comfortable? How can I make your reading experience more pleasurable? Cup of tea? Haha.
> 
> So here is an update. Bit longer but I'm trying out different writing methods to see if I can't be more productive. Like, for instance, writing sober. That helps immensely. LOL. Don't know how Hemingway or King did it... Not that I'm even close to Hemingway or King - in fact, maybe I shouldn't be using their names in the same context as fanfiction? Lmao.
> 
> Oh and I realized I couldn't write this fic without Scout Harding. Ah, Scout Harding. Anyone else get a kick out of the Inquisitor saying: "I should go" to Scout Harding. I know I did. But I'm a geek like that.
> 
> Anyhow - hope you're having a great day.
> 
> Enjoy.

* * *

            The sounds of life and even occasional laughter were everywhere in the crisp morning air. If not for the pulsating green rift high above the mountains, one would be hard pressed to notice anything amiss in the small hamlet.

            As was her custom, Leliana slipped easily into the milling refugees and headed towards the stables, listening to conversations both open and hushed. It was a gift really, to be able to hide in plain sight and despite the notoriety of her position as the Left Hand, few really knew who she was and what she looked like. While others sought prestige and influence, Leliana was happy in her semi-autonomy:

            “Did you hear? The Herald secured the King’s Highway.”

            “Yes. I heard she routed the apostates from Witchwood before turning her attention to the Templers.”

            “That’s not the least of it! My cousin just arrived today. He said the Herald took out a raven in flight at a hundred yards!”

            _Apparently, she wasn’t joking about eating one of my birds._

            Leliana sighed and made a note to check the rookery later.

            Exiting Haven’s gates, she noticed that a small group of onlookers had crowded around the stable’s corral.   A half dozen of good looking mounts milled about in their new home. Leliana had to give Master Dennet credit: there were no finer horses in all of Ferelden!

            She noticed a familiar figure lingering just outside of the main group. With a smile, she walked towards her best agent: “Scout Harding, you’re back. I wasn’t expecting you for another two days.”

            The dwarf looked up at her with a smile, “I know. I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon but the Herald stopped by our camp on her way back here and insisted on giving me a ride."

            “Did she?” Leliana asked, surprised by the Herald’s actions.

            Harding laughed, “Yeah. She can be very persistent.”

            “So I have noticed,” she replied quietly, but if Harding heard her she didn’t let on.

            “I tried to tell her that I’m not a fan of horses but she promised not to let anything happen to me.”

            “And you said yes.”

            “Well, I couldn’t say no…especially after she offered to ride double.”

            There was something to her tone that Leliana had never heard before. She looked at Harding, whose smile said all that needed to be said.

            “I didn’t know you preferred the company of the fairer sex,” the Spymaster said conversationally.

            Harding glanced sideways at her, “Why would you? It’s not yours or anyone’s business.”

            “I meant no offense,” she back peddled quickly.

            Harding laughed, “None taken. It’s just; there is always a reason why a dwarf will leave the Stone. Most of the time, it has nothing to do with fresh air and wide open spaces.”

            An amiable silence fell between them. Leliana could relate. She too had left her ‘home’ for reasons that were not acceptable. She had wanted something real. She had wanted people whom were truly ‘real’. She had left the Game because of what it was – a game. A game in which there were no winners only losers – the whole lot of them.

            “So, how was it?” she asked.

            “How was what?”

            “Riding double with Trevelyan...”

            Harding shot her another sideways glance equipped with a secretive smile. ”I’ll say this: she has great form and her arms? Let’s just say the bow isn’t an accessory for her.”

            “Indeed,” she said. She wondered at the strange feeling of disappointment Harding’s refusal to dish on her time with the Herald. “Speaking of, where can I find her?”

            “She said something about taking her horse ‘through the paces’ and headed towards the old apothecary.”

            “Thank you, Scout Harding. I will see you later for your next assignment, no?”

            “I wouldn’t miss it,” the dwarf replied with a soft smile.

            Leliana left the main troop encampment, heading away from the uneven muddied ground towards the soft snow pack. Given the fact that horses were a new addition to the Inquisition, tracking the one person in Haven on horseback wouldn’t be all that difficult for the spymaster.

            As she walked, she thought about Trevelyan. Despite the fact she came from nobility, she certainly did not act the part around others. Most human nobles wouldn’t be caught dead offering to ride with a dwarf. Even with human/dwarf relations improving; dwarves were still held with suspicion and bias by most of her human brethren. It was refreshing to see there were more nobles like the Couslands. The thought brought the familiar feeling of loss back and Leliana did her best to push it away. There was no sense in entertaining the emotion at that moment, not when there was work to be done.

            She heard the sound of hoof beats followed by a loud command of ‘he-ya’ echo in the tree cusp around her. Crouching low, she moved to the edge of the grove and watched:

            Trevelyan had appropriated one of Cullen’s practice dummies and had arranged the beleaguered thing in the middle of the clearing, arrows sticking from the neck and chest area.   She watched as horse and rider cantered to the far edge of the clearing before the Herald reared the mount around and kneed it into a full gallop. Harding hadn’t exaggerated Trevelyan’s form. Body bent low behind the neck, knees placed perfectly on the flanks for the most control; the Herald allowed her body to move with the horse. As the war horse approached the practice dummy at a terrifying rate of speed, Trevelyan produced her weapon from seemingly nowhere and leaning dangerously off of the side of the animal – fired an arrow that hit its mark square in the head. As quickly as she had fired the shot, the Herald righted herself in the saddle and slowed the animal before reaching the other end of the clearing.

            Stopping the horse with a ‘whoa’ she slid from the saddle, patted the animal lovingly and led the creature gently back towards the dummy to check her handiwork. She hummed thoughtfully as she inspected the dummy and then said: “I don’t know Horse. I think we’re having an off day.”

            The animal whinnied and nudged her in the back of the head with its nose. Trevelyan giggled, “Fine, you’re right. Maybe I’m just having an off day.”

            “I’m not fluent in horse but I don’t think he was criticizing your shooting. If this is you having an off day, I would hate to be anyone standing opposed to you on an ‘on’ day,” Leliana said as she approached. “You hit the dummy from a full gallop, right in the face.”

            “I was aiming for its neck,” Trevelyan panned.

            “Either way, you have very impressive skills.”

            The Herald laughed, “Well that answers my question as to how long you were watching me.”

            Leliana furrowed her brow, “How so?”

            “If you had been there for a while, you would have commented on the incredible leaping shot I took from the saddle,” she pointed at the half dozen arrows that stuck out from the lower half of the dummy.

            The audacious comment caught her off guard and her mouth fell open. She had heard of trick riders that were also master marksmen. But such things were the subjects of tavern tales and for those who were able to accomplish such feats, most found a lucrative living as performers in the courts of Orlais.

            Trevelyan’s good natured laugh brought her back around from her surprise, “It seems my guess was correct.”

            “I-” Leliana narrowed her eyes, “What do you mean?”

            “The look on your face says it all. If you had been watching me, you wouldn’t be shocked. Either you would have seen me do it or you would know that I’m completely bullshitting you.”

            “Are you?” she asked incredulously.

            Trevelyan’s easy smile widened a bit, “I guess you’ll just have to wonder, spymaster.”

            “You can be incredibly infuriating. You know this, yes?”

            Trevelyan sighed but her serene smile remained, “Cassandra says as much - every day, in fact. But I’m taking it that you didn’t come out here to discuss my proclivity for pissing off the pedantic.”

            “No, I didn’t,” Leliana said with a light laugh at the Herald’s subtle reference towards the Seeker. Cassandra had vented her frustrations to the Bard over a few of Trevelyan’s behaviors more than once.

            She watched as Trevelyan’s cool smile transformed into a uniquely warm one. Leliana had never seen this side of the Herald and she found herself entranced by the genuine feeling all over the rogue’s face.

            “Then, truly, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

            She hesitated. Bringing up her twin, when Trevelyan herself had not mentioned the subject to anyone else, would be akin to unsheathing her blade and stabbing it between the woman’s ribs where she stood. Part of her begged that she would make up a simple reason (there were a million she could use) and let the subject be for the moment. There would be time enough to discuss it. Ideally, after the breach was sealed.

            _Yes, but despite what Trevelyan believes, now is not the time for ideals. She is clever. Surely she will see that one’s happiness must be sacrificed at times for the greater good. If her sister’s death is a wound that can be opened, then I must open it. She will either forgive or fear me; both responses I can work with._

            Part of her howled in dismay at her own callous reasoning; Trevelyan should be more than a means to an end. But there was a real threat to the world. The last time fate threatened an apocalypse, she let her emotions get in the way and it cost Elissa her life and Leliana her whole world- happiness included.

            “Is Eloie dead?”

            Even as the words left her mouth, she cringed. She hadn’t meant to say it so heartlessly, had she? Sick guilt filled her chest as she watched the Herald’s face transform once again from one of warmth, to cold stoicism. But the most wrenching part was watching the light fade from her eyes as if death had found her still living.

            “Yes,” she said simply. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have trip to Val Royeaux to plan for and a Chantry to convince that I am not the heretic that caused the explosion which killed both my sister and their beloved Divine. You know what they say, _sister_ : ‘No rest for the wicked’.”

            Before Leliana could open her mouth to apologize or even begin to fix the damage she had done, Trevelyan swung herself up into the saddle and with a clicking sound set off in the direction of the stables.

            “Merde!” She cursed lifting a trembling hand to her brow.

            _Marjolaine would be so proud of her Nightingale._


	6. Shared Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Reader,
> 
> So, I switched 'hands' in this chapter. We'll see how it goes. 
> 
> I hope all is well with you. And if there is anything I can do to make you comfortable and coming back to read the story. Please, do let me know.
> 
> Without further ado-
> 
> Let's begin...

* * *

     Cassandra absolutely detested the war council meetings. Most of the time was wasted with Cullen and Lady Montilyet arguing over what to do, whom to contact. Leliana would occasionally dive into the fray to side with the Ambassador or to report on what was dark and dirty in Thedas. But ultimately they usually found themselves deadlocked, waiting on a wisecracking but undeniably astute Ostwickian to decide where she and by extension Cassandra, would possibly like to die next.

     It was riveting fun.

     In the beginning, she noticed that Trevelyan always showed up late when most of the bickering was done. She would amble in, crack a few jokes (usually at Cullen’s expense), pay a few compliments (usually to the Ambassador), toss around a few _warm_ smiles (usually in the Spymaster’s direction) and just like that the Inquisition moved forward under the direction of a rogue, who completely acted the part. _Maker preserve us._

     She quickly learned it was easier to wait until the Herald went in, than to try and get a word in edgewise with the cackling hens that constituted the Inquisition leadership. Today, though, something seemed off with the Marcher.

     “You’re not doing it.”

     “Excuse me?”

     “You’re not rolling that infernal coin of yours. You always roll a coin along your knuckles.”

     “I’m sorry?” Trevelyan replied, confused as to if she should be apologizing or not.

     “I didn’t mean-” she sighed in frustration. She was never good with this sort of thing. She tried a different tactic. “What I meant to say was: I’ve noticed that you roll a coin while you wait. You also do it at camp. And you roll it, just once, before you go to bed. Why?”

     “Why do I roll the coin? Or, why am I not rolling it right now?”

     “Either. Both.”

     Trevelyan laughed but it lacked authenticity. “I’m flattered Seeker that you pay so much attention to me and my habits. Is there something you wish me to know?”

     “The only reason you are flattered is because you are deluded,” she ground out.

     Trevelyan’s laugh heartened a little more, “And yet you follow my orders. That doesn’t speak well of you, Seeker.”

     “Apparently, it is the Maker’s will that I be tested; not by fire but by a fool.”

     “We each must bear our burdens,” Trevelyan holy intonation was marred by mirth.

     “I swear I will kill you one day, Trevelyan. When this is all over, I will come for you.”

     “I will welcome the day.”

     Cassandra rolled her eyes and turned away, hiding the relieved look on her face. If something was bothering the Herald, the last thing they needed was for her to go into whatever darkness had loomed over her moments before.

     “Since you’re not going to send me to the Maker’s side today, perhaps we should get this over with? I hear the Chantry has promised a circus if I go to Val Royeaux.”

     “So it would seem.”

     “I always did love the circus. With all its pageantry and _clowns._ ”

     Cassandra glanced sideways at her as they entered the back vestibule. “Careful Herald, some might interpret that as heresy.”

     “Just trying to live up to my label, Seeker.”

     “Of _herald_ or _heretic_?”

     “Both, it would seem.” Her eyes shot towards the Left Hand as she spoke.

     “Touché Trevelyan.”

     Cassandra caught the look but none of the others did as they argued about whether or not to approach what remained of the Chantry:

     “And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?”

     Leliana’s question was cautious, almost hesitant. This struck her as strange since the spymaster hadn’t held such a tone vis-â-vis Trevelyan before.  It was then the Seeker observed that her counterpart had her hands behind her back. It was one of the few tells the spymaster had. _Leliana feels guilty about something._

     “Let’s ask her,” Josephine’s reply brought her attention back.

     “You want me to walk into a pit of vipers and you ask me that?”

     The Herald’s response was uncharacteristically harsh.

     “They’re not vipers just because they like to hiss,” Josephine gracefully deflected the venom directed at her.

     _What in the world is going on with the Herald?_   Cassandra stepped forward, done with hesitations and disagreements.

     “I will go with her,” she fixed Leliana with a look. ”Mother Giselle said she could provide us names. Use them.”

     “But why? This nothing but a-”

     “What choice do we have Leliana?! Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready we will see this through.”

      ***

      “You are a very skilled equestrian. And I noticed that your family crest has a stallion on it. Are the Trevelyan’s known for their horsemanship?” Cassandra asked out of the blue.

     Since they had left Haven, Trevelyan had been uncharacteristically quiet. They had been on the road for nearly three days and the Herald hadn’t spoken more than a few words.

     “No. We are known for our long faces and saying ‘nay’ every time we are asked something. And, if ever you were to see my extended family’s teeth… well, that would answer your question right there.”

     Cassandra looked at the Herald in shock. “Are you seri-”

     Varric’s laugh cut her short.

     “Oh, you’re joking,” she replied with distaste. “You’re hilarious.”

     She caught a small tic of a smile flash across the woman’s face before it disappeared again.

     “You should have seen your face, Seeker.” Varric chuckled.

     “I’m traveling with a band of jokers and knaves. I can only imagine how humorous it looks.”

     Trevelyan finally laughed and saved the Seeker from anymore torment. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. I shouldn’t have been so glib. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Yes, my family is known for their harems. And many of the best riders in the Free Marches have been taught by the Trevelyan masters.”

     “I see. And do your siblings share the same skills?”

     Trevelyan tensed and the dark cloud that had hung over the Herald’s mood descended again.

     “They did.”

     It was then that Cassandra recognized the darkness because it had been her own a long time ago and, in a sense, still was.

_Anthony._

     “I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry,” she said quietly.

     The Herald sighed, “It’s alright.”

     “Would you like to…” she trailed off.

     “Talk about it? No. Did the spymaster put you up to this?” She asked tersely.

     “Leliana?” Cassandra’s mind raced, putting the pieces together. “No. I didn’t know. I simply was making conversation.”

     Trevelyan glanced at her in a bid to assess her sincerity. The harshness that colored her features eased and was replaced by weariness.

     “Indeed,” she finally acquiesced. “Please pardon my behavior, Seeker. It’s just- this subject is sensitive and still very new. Sister Nightingale, it would seem, decided that this wound was better kept rent open.”   

     As much as she appreciated and respected Leliana’s abilities, there were times that Cassandra found herself at her wits end with how doggedly cold the spymaster could be. She wanted to throttle the bard at times. Did she think she was the only person to lose someone they loved?  She wondered if perhaps the Left Hand’s efficient ruthlessness was not a product of wanting the world to share in her pain.

     “I can’t apologize for whatever the spymaster has done to you. But I can tell you that she too carries a deep loss. We all do,” she said quietly. “Despite what Leliana would have the world believe; she is a gentle soul with a tender heart.”

     “Is she now?  Well, then I must hand it to her, she truly is an excellent bard.  She’s got everyone fooled. In fact, I’m still incredibly skeptical despite your claim. ‘Gentle soul, tender heart' - Bullocks! _Where_ did you come up with that? A trashy, two bit novel?”

     Cassandra blushed furiously, “Forget I said anything.”

     “Already forgotten,” Trevelyan laughed but after a moment she said; “Thank you.”

     “For?”

     “For being you. For offering to talk. For respecting my decision not to. Thank you.”

     The sincere, earnest gratitude took her by surprise. So did the sudden revelation of the Herald’s maturity and depth. _Apparently, Leliana isn’t the only one who hides behind a persona._

     “I-” she began, even though she didn’t know what to say.

     Trevelyan, blessedly, held up a hand to stop her.

     “How about we just let this be? It’ll be our little secret,” she said with a wink.

     A huge, genuine smile appeared on Cassandra’s face. “As you wish, Herald.”

     “Do my eyes deceive me? Are you smiling, Seeker?”

     She cursed and turned around in her saddle. _I swear if that weasel listened in…_ She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Varric and Solas were trailing a respectable distance behind them.

     “And what if I am?” she glared at the dwarf.

     “Then it really is the end of the world.”

     With a sound and look of disdain, the Seeker returned her attention to the road.

     ***


	7. Of Death & Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my friend,
> 
> Did I mention that I'm not all that good with romance? Haha. Both within and without of my writing. Anyhow - I'm trying really hard not to write gag worthy - ewww- (my skin is crawling when I think about it) romance and love. I am not the hopeless romantic sort. Used to be, but I've had several people help me get over the pesky habit. However, I know that I need to work "on it" so this is me "working on it". And I know there has to be some kind of wonderment to the whole "love story" arc but I'm trying to keep it at a minimum.
> 
> But, I require that if it is getting over the top or just too sticky - you as a reader INFORM ME OF THIS - so I can stop it immediately. Ugh...nothing worse in the world than prose drenched in dime store romance. Especially when the main characters are two women!! Like somehow because it is a lesbian romance - then it's candlelight, celtic music, angst and the pet names the writers come up for their characters to call each other! UGH!! It's enough to drive a girl to go straight. No wonder there aren't any good lesbian movies or books - ever. It's the same damn thing over and over. LOL. 
> 
> Okay, I'm done ranting...*ahem* 
> 
> Moving on. I mean no offense by my personal preferences. There are many, many writers getting paid to write that sort of thing, and I? Well, I write for free. So, who truly is the foolish one? Probably me. And if you like that kinda thing, again, I mean no offense - I just can't seem to get myself behind it, or in front of it, or anywhere around it - more power to you! You do you! Go you! 
> 
> Alright, enough said- enjoy.

* * *

          She reached the wall; stopped, turned and paced back in the opposite direction.

          “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor Leliana.”

          “It’s stone. It would take hundreds of years for that to happen.”

          “Or it will take another five minutes of you trying to grind your apprehension into it.”

          She sighed. Josephine was right, of course. It had been two days since her agent had returned from Val Royeaux with troubling news: the Chantry had called in Templers to _deal_ with the Herald and the heretical Inquisition.

          Cassandra had ordered Leliana's agent back to Haven. The scout had not wished to disobey a direct order from the Seeker, but she knew her own mistress well enough that if she came back empty handed, she would find her next posting less than pleasant. So the woman hung around until what she called “an unholy ruckus” broke out. She didn’t know who did it, but someone had struck Revered Mother Hevara. The agent had left the Summer Bazaar quickly after that.

          “I’m sure it wasn’t one of our people who struck the Revered Mother,” Josephine distractedly assured her as she continued writing responses to the ever growing pile of correspondences on her desk.

          Leliana sighed, clasping her hands together in an effort not to resume pacing, “I certainly hope not.”

          Josephine looked up and narrowed her eyes. “That tone. I know it. What did you do?”

          “I haven’t the faintest clue what you are talking about,” she tried to play it off.

          Josephine said nothing but her eyes never left the Spymaster. The Ambassador dropped her quill back into its well and leaned back, folding her arms over her chest.

          “You are a terrible liar. Which is surprising given your vocation.”

          Leliana snorted dismissively. “I’m actually a very _good_ liar. I’m just terrible at it with you.”

          “Good and may it ever be so. Now, are you going to tell me what you haven’t told me?”

          She dropped her head. Guilt had found her near instantly when she had questioned the Herald about her sister. Shame had taken its time to set in and now she could barely bring herself to think about it without wanting to crawl under a rock.  With a sigh, she told Josephine what happened.

          “ _Leliana_!” Josie’s tone was somewhere between astonishment and admonishment.

          “I know.”

          “How could you?!”

          “ _I know._ ”

          It was Josie’s turn to stand up and start pacing. Leliana dropped into a chair, quietly grateful that someone else had taken over for her.

          “First, her sister dies at the Conclave. She is taken prisoner. Declared a heretic, declared the Herald of Andraste. Then conscripted into an Inquisition and almost immediately sent out on dangerous missions. And as soon as we find out about Eloie, in a moment that could have been used to solidify Trevelyan’s loyalty to us- _to you_ \- you go and demand to know if her sister is undoubtedly dead.”

          She groaned and dropped her head into her hands, “I know, I’m a horrible person.”

          Josephine stopped pacing, her features softening, “You know that isn’t true. You can lose all sense of decorum at times but you are not a _horrible_ person.”

          “Aren’t I?” she demanded. “Would the Maker reward a _good_ person with so much death? I am surrounded by it. Half the time, I bring it. If death is the Maker’s only gift, than I am his courier.”

          “A very dramatic statement but wrong. The Maker’s first gift was light. His second: love. I do not think there is any reference to death being the only divine dalliance the Maker has with his children.”

          Leliana glowered, “That may very well be, but it does not explain why my walk with the Maker has been so blood soaked.”

          “Perhaps it is because you have wrapped yourself in it,” Josephine said simply and sat back down at her desk.

          “I- No, I haven’t…” Even as the words came out of her mouth, she recognized the duplicity in them. She let her statement fall.

          Josie looked at her tenderly, “Haven’t you? Answer me this: have you taken anyone to your bed since the Warden?”

          “I don’t see how that’s any of your business-”

          “Just answer the question, Leliana.”

          Despite her longtime friendship, the spymaster kept her mouth closed. There was no _way_ she was going to dignify such a highly personal question with a response.

          “I’ll take your silence as a ‘no’.” Josephine said after a moment, picking up her pen and returning to work.

          “I didn’t say that,” Leliana groused.

          “Yes, you did. Otherwise, you would have had no qualms about actually saying ‘yes’. Please Leli, you may have devoted yourself to Justinia the last few years but the passionate, sensual woman I know and love still hides underneath all that chain mail and leather. _If_ that woman no longer existed, you would have taken your vows by now.”

          “Did it occur to you that maybe I just never found the time to do so?”

          “You spent nearly ten years at the side of the Divine. Are you truly going to try and tell me, you couldn’t find five minutes to declare your celibacy for the Maker?”

          Leliana narrowed her eyes, “Yes. I was too busy assassinating antagonistic antivan ambassadors.”

          Josephine laughed.  “And what did Justinia have to say about your supposed ten year bloodbath?”

          _“You will love again, Leliana. By the Maker’s will and Andraste’s grace, you will find your song once more.”_

          “She said that I should kill more ambassadors if ever they should pester me to no end,” she fired back.

          “Then perhaps I should say a prayer of gratitude that your stubbornness is stronger than your obedience.” There was a knock on the door, “Come in.”

          One of Leliana’s agents opened the heavy door and slipped inside. He nodded towards the Spymaster, who inclined her head in acknowledgment and then the agent turned and bowed to Josephine.

          “Pardon the interruption Madame Ambassador but word just came for you by bird,” he said quickly, holding out a rolled parchment that had Josephine’s name written on it.

          Leliana frowned and shared a look with her friend. Normally, all the communiques that came via the courier carrions were strictly for the spymaster. The ambassador received her missives in a much more mundane manner by way of messenger.

          “I’ll take it,” she spoke, standing.

          “But, it says-” the agent began, not realizing his protest was not welcomed.

          “I _said_ I’ll take it,” Leliana fixed him with a look that spoke of an unpleasant future if he continued to argue with her.

          “Yes Sister,” he replied handing her the missive with a hasty bow before scurrying out of the room.

          Josephine shook her head as the door shut, “It must be terrifying working for you.”

          “It’s terrifying to _be_ me,” Leliana replied with a self-deprecating laugh.

          She tested the weight of the parchment. It felt slightly heavier than normal, which was strange, but Josephine’s name was written in Trevelyan’s slanted, precise script.

          “It seems that the Herald still lives,” she said, handing the parchment over.

          To her surprise, her own words lightened the anxiety that had clung to her since Trevelyan and company had departed for Val Royeaux. And despite the fact that the Marcher had hijacked her own communication network to send Josie a message, she was eager to hear what the Herald had to say.

          Josephine undid the small leather strap that secured the parchment and carefully unrolled it, catching something in her hand as she did.

_That’s odd._

          As her eyes skimmed the writing, a smile appeared on the Ambassador's face.

          “What does it say, Josie?” Her curiosity getting the better of her.

          “ _Dear Ambassador – By the power vested in me as ‘Herald’, I declare the Templers to be useless, self-servicing pricks. May all who encounter them, point and laugh at their shriveled manhood. We detoured to attend Grand Enchanter De Fer’s salon. Lovely affair, but the escargot was abysmal and Madame De Fer has agreed to join the Inquisition as recompense for the assault on my taste buds,”_

          “The Grand Enchanter is joining us?” Leliana couldn’t believe her ears or their luck. Josephine nodded. Her eyes still on the parchment, the smile still affixed to her face, she continued:

          _“We should arrive in a day’s time. Spring and life have come back to Ferelden and by the Maker’s will, they will find their way to you.”_ Josephine finished and then held up what had fallen out of the missive, “This was inside.”

          Leliana’s eyes fell onto the small but perfect bloom of Andraste’s Grace that Josephine held in her hand. The Divine’s words echoed again in her ears.

          _“By the Maker’s will and Andraste’s grace…”_

          Once again, her whole world was shattered by the vision of a single flower.

          ***


	8. Et Erit Gratia

* * *

            She was pleased. The Herald had returned and despite her brief chastisement about bickering, which could be chalked up to weariness from her travels, she did not seemingly hold a grudge against the Spymaster.

           For the first time since Trevelyan left, Leliana allowed herself a small smile as she walked towards her shared quarters. Opening the door, she saw Cassandra unpacking her saddlebag.

            “How was the journey?”

            “It was quiet,” Cassandra replied not turning from her task.

            Leliana frowned, “That’s not what I heard. I heard about the Summer Bazaar and the Revered Mother. I also heard about the scavenger hunt Red Jenny led you on. How’d that turn out by the way?”

            “By quiet, I mean Trevelyan barely strung together more than a few sentences. Such was her mood thanks to your bludgeoning interrogation tactics. And Red Jenny is an elf named Sera who I think might be totally insane. Trevelyan said she could join. I blame this on you.”

            “Blame this on me? What are you talking about Cassandra? Trevelyan seems fine.”

            “No, she’s not.” She finished emptying her bag and turned towards the Spymaster, crossing her arms as she did. “Have you ever lost a sibling Leliana?”

            Her words cut deeply. She had forgotten that the Seeker had lost her own brother. He had been killed- decapitated- right in front of a very young Cassandra.

            “No,” she said quietly.

            “I know you mourn Justinia. I know you still mourn the Warden. But these people were not your blood. You cannot know _that_ pain until you have lived it.”

            Leliana went to speak, but Cassandra held up her hand.

            “I don’t want or need to know what happened between you and the Herald. All I want you to do is fix it.”

            “Cassandra, I don’t thi-”

            The Seeker pinned her with a cold look, “Fix. It.”

            Leliana gave a displeased huff as she turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her.

            ***

            She cursed Cassandra under her breath as she walked in the chilled evening air. Then she cursed Trevelyan for moving her living quarters out of Haven proper and into the old apothecary. Logistically, it was a pain in the ass to provide extra security for. Realistically, the pain was in her face, as a steady wind whipped up ice and snow.

            Leliana prayed her thanks when she spied firelight coming from the windows. She could warm up, apologize and leave- all within five minutes if she played her cards right.  She knocked on the door.  Pulling it open, a look of surprise passed over Trevelyan’s face but then she poked her head out, looking around at the worsening weather.

            “I’m going to assume that you’re not here to insult me or ply me with painful questions. Otherwise- I have to tell you- I will knock you out, strip you naked, tie you to a tree and leave you outside as a lesson to all the other braying jackasses.”

            “That’s fair.”

            After a moment, Trevelyan stepped back with a slight bow and an amiable smile, “Please, come in.”

            “Thank you,” she said, stepping in with a shiver.

            The Herald hadn’t disturbed the apothecary much. Aside from a pile of treated furs with Trevelyan’s gear that took up the space in front of a blazing fire, the rogue had been respectful of the departed herbalist’s property.

            “My apologizes, I wasn’t expecting guests…ever. I think there is a chair around here…somewhere.”

            Leliana tried a warm smile, which was hard considering she was freezing. “T-that’s alright. Where were you sitting?”

            “Kind of, here-ish,” she replied circling one hand above the furs.

            “Thank you,” she said, sinking gracefully onto the warm pelts before her host could say anything else.

            “Well, that was easy.” Trevelyan muttered.

            “Ha! Don’t let it go to your head Herald,” she replied, picking up an open bottle of wine and inspecting the label.

            It was an expensive vintage out of the Dales. Sold in Val Royeaux it was a favorite of piquant port connoisseurs but not widely drank outside of nobility.

            _It seems the Herald has a discerning palate. She probably wasn’t joking about the escargot. But- if that is true – how, in heaven’s name, did she stomach eating a scavenger?_  There was something very odd about the Herald.

            “A Château d’Basot label?” she arched a brow and looked at Trevelyan.

            The Herald shrugged and took up her spot again, “It’s not my favorite.”

            “Not your favorite?” she repeated, not sure if she had heard correctly.

            “No. It’s far too dry and bitter. You see that black jar over there?” She nodded past two finely crafted blades, to a sealed container. “That’s the best Antivan honey money can buy. A dollop mixed into your glass and that Orlesian swill becomes something close to delicious. No offense to Orlais or their swill.”

            “None taken,” Leliana said with a small smile, “I prefer Ferelden wine myself. It tastes... richer, more vibrant.”

            “Really?” Trevelyan made face.

            “Oh, I see. I suppose you’re going to tell me that the Free Marches have the best wine in all of Thedas?”

            “Perish the thought! We can’t even agree on how to rule ourselves let alone which wood makes for a better cask,” the Herald replied.

            “With a response like that, I suppose I don’t have to worry about your loyalties to Ostwick or your homeland getting in the way,” she teased.

            “No. You don’t.” Trevelyan said fishing a cup out of her rucksack and filling it for Leliana.

            “Why do you drink it?”

            “Because it was Eloie’s favorite.”

            “Oh, I see.”

            “When I was in Val Royeaux, I picked up a bottle for myself and an agent for Josephine.”  She handed the glass to the Spymaster.

            “Aren’t you thoughtful,” Leliana said in thanks.

            “Yes, I am. And Josephine thinks so too. She was beside herself to have Madame Sims connections to the Summer Bazaar,” Trevelyan winked.

            Leliana rolled her eyes as she added honey to her wine.  Trevelyan continued: “I am happy you came by. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of drinking it by myself.”

            “As well you shouldn’t.  At least, not when your loss is still so new.” Leliana counseled, remembering a span of a month when all she wanted to do was drown the memory of the Warden, and nearly did.

            “I’ll take you at your word. So... what brought the Left Hand to my door this evening?”

            She set the glass down, suddenly nervous.

            “I wanted to apologize for my cruel questioning of Eloie’s passing. It was wrong and inappropriate of me.”

            “Apology accepted. You are forgiven.”

            “I-” She began her justification but stopped. “Really? Just like that?”

            “People keep accusing me of being the Herald of Andraste. What’s the sense in lugging around such a big title if I don’t get to use it? If I remember correctly, one of Andraste’s gifts was grace. So, this is me being graceful- in Andraste’s name, of course.” Trevelyan said with an affable smile.

            “Of course,” she managed.

            She couldn’t have been more shocked if the Herald had tossed a hornet’s nest into her lap. What in merciful heaven was going on? What was she playing at, saying things like that? She had managed to dismiss the words of the Herald’s message to Josephine and the accompanying blossom as a fluke incident. The Herald had obviously meant the words for the Ambassador, not Leliana. Therefore, in her mind, it was easier to dismiss the unsettling coincidence between Dorothea’s and the Herald’s words. But, yet there the Herald went saying things like _that._

            She took a sip of her wine to steady her nerves. Her eyes fell on the finely crafted blades that lay next to Trevelyan’s bow.

            “Are those your sister’s as well?” she asked gently.

            The Herald managed a half-hearted smile, “Actually, they’re mine.”

            Leliana frowned again, “But I thought the bow..?”

            “No. That was Eloie’s weapon of choice. She is-” she faltered then corrected, “ _w_ _as_ an amazing shot. I don’t think she missed a target from age six and on.”

            “You’re not a terrible shot yourself.” Leliana offered.

            “That is kind of you to say. But, Eloie? She always made me look like a blind woman without arms when it came to shooting.”

            Trevelyan laughed at a memory, picking up a battered coin in her left hand and cascading it dexterously from one knuckle to the next and then back again. Leliana couldn’t pull her eyes away from the action. The sickly lime green light from the mark reflected off of the coin, catching the eye and holding it like a mirrored ball. Trevelyan continued:

            “Our family has a long and tangled history with the Chantry. The Trevelyans have faithfully supplied bodies to the Templers and the Circle for generations. My parents only had Eloie and I, so we were expected to follow suit. I was taught blades and Eloie the bow.”

            “Then how did you become proficient at both?”

            Trevelyan laughed. “Have you been around many identical twins? We tend to pull tricks. Eloie wasn’t happy being regulated to _one_ deadly art, so we alternated our daily lessons. One day, we would train with our respective masters and the next, we would switch. I would pose as Eloie and she as me and we would practice together at night. It worked well until Eloie was found to have magical talents. It’s kind of hard to pose as a mage when one can’t even conjure up a good excuse as to why they suddenly are lacking the ability to summon fire.”

            Leliana giggled, “I could see where that would be difficult.  What did you do?”

            “Do? Nothing,” Trevelyan said ruefully. “Strings were pulled and Eloie was sent to train with the knight enchanters. I stayed behind in Ostwick to continue my own education and learn the family business of breeding horses. I hadn’t seen Eloie in years when we received word that she was going to attend the Conclave and then return home. She wanted no part in the rebellion and certainly didn’t feel too inclined to stay and help the Templers.”

            Leliana’s heart sank knowing that the story did not end happily.

            “My parents sent me to go help with the Conclave and then escort my sister home. Eloie was so happy to see me that she gave me this as soon as we were reunited,” she held up the coin and then placed it carefully in Leliana’s hand. “This coin has been in our family since the First Exalted March. It was minted and given to my ancestor Antipherus by Andraste herself. I don’t remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but the last thing I remember is holding this in my left hand.”

            The metal suddenly felt incredibly warm. Leliana’s own hands began to quiver as she realized what she was holding in them. A piece of history! The Maker’s Bride _herself_   had commissioned and once handled the modest silver lying in her hand.

            Reverently, she held up the coin to the light. It was old, to be sure. On one side, the insignia sun of the Maker. On the reversed side, the number -175- was stamped in the center and encircling it were the words: Voluntatem nostrum Victoriam.

            _His Will, Our Victory._

            The coin slipped from her trembling fingers.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this my friend. I figured we would hear Trevelyan's story as to why she was at the Conclave. 
> 
> Please, have a wonderful day. And if you are not - just smile, right now, for me.
> 
> ...See? Now we both feel better. ;)


	9. Breaking the Fast

* * *

            Her favorite time was just before the dawn.  Those few hours between the silence of night and the bustle of morning was when she was at her most peaceful.  She found she could get most of her paper work done well before the start of the day’s activities.

            “Here’s your tea, Sister Nightingale.” The tavern keep said, placing a worn service on the corner. 

            Leliana lifted her head to give her thanks when she noticed the dark circles under the woman’s eyes.   It was then she realized that the normally chipper keep hadn’t said much.

            “Is everything alright, Flissa?”

            “Oh, yes.  Just a late night is all.”

            “Late night?”

            “Aye.  The Herald got back late and she, along with a group of mercenaries, kept me up half the eve.”

            “Did she?” Leliana leaned back intrigued.

            Trevelyan had sent word she had recruited a Ben-Hassrath agent named Ironbull and his mercenary group, the Chargers.  The Herald hadn’t been due to be back until that very day.  And while it wasn’t odd for Trevelyan to show up early to everything _but_ the war council meetings, it was odd to hear that she had returned to Haven and proceeded to get tanked without bothering to tell anyone, including her own spymaster, that she had made it back safely.

            “Aye.  They did no damage but they kept me runnin’.  Especially that Ironbull.  He can drink his weight in ale!  Got pretty grabby as the drinkin’ went on.”  Flissa began to fill her in excitedly.

            “Did he?”

            “Oh, aye.  But the Herald politely turned him down.”

            “Did she?”

            “Aye.  He got handy with the Lady and she pulled a knife.  Didn’t stab him though.”

            “That was gracious of her.”

            “That it ‘twas. Considering, but I can’t be sure, it should be some sort of blasphemy to slap the Herald of Andraste on the ass.  No matter how sweet and firm it loo-” Flissa caught Leliana’s look of warning.  “I meant- praise the Maker, the Herald’s back!  I got to go see to the days’ chores.  Beggin’ your pardon.”

            The barkeep found some chore to take her outside and Leliana was left alone with her thoughts.  And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. 

            The evening she had gone to apologize to Trevelyan had left her unsettled.  She had avoided the Herald for two days after until she had departed for the Storm Coast. Even Josephine had noticed something was off.  She had inquired of Leliana what was the matter, but what could she say when she didn’t even know herself.

            And Flissa’s recounting of the night’s festivities only added to the confusing emotions surfacing within her.  She felt the familiar twisting of her stomach at the thought of someone _handling_ the Herald.  She tried to reason that if Trevelyan truly was ordained then there was something to Flissa’s sacrilege argument and that was the cause of her sudden protectiveness.  But even she knew that was rubbish.

            Suddenly, Leliana felt very claustrophobic in the empty tavern.  She quickly gathered up her papers, tucked them into the lining of her mail and left.  The cool morning air felt good and the lite bite to it did wonders to clear her head, but did nothing to stop the churning in her spirit.

            _What are you doing?_  

            She couldn’t very well answer her own question.  Every day, she received reports of the Herald’s handiwork.  What Trevelyan was doing for the people of Ferelden, for the refugees, for complete strangers that were of no consequence was seemingly nothing short of divine providence.  The approachable, unassumingly charismatic Marcher was giving a legitimacy to the burgeoning Inquisition that had seemed impossible only a few months before.  It was nothing short of miraculous.

            _And what if she’s not Andraste’s Herald?  What if she is just a poor soul, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?_

            Then that was even more troubling.  Because it meant that all of the ‘good’ Trevelyan was doing came from within and not without.  It meant the Maker was still silent.  It meant that the rogue mutually shared the same selfless spirit that had resided in both the Warden and the Divine.  The same spirit that usually got people killed.

            She tried to push the thoughts away.  There was no reason for her to dwell on the Herald’s actions.  So, she was a kind person.  Leliana had met many kind people.  And what did it matter if she was both clever and intelligent?  There was no lack to the Inquisition’s leadership experience.  And just because she somehow managed to maintain a noble decorum while wearing lithe leather armor that invariably led one’s thoughts down sinful paths, did not mean that Leliana had to give any heed to the long denied feelings stirring inside.

            _Stop it, Leliana.  None of this will do any good.  Just focus on fixing the rift and the rest will fix itself._   Deciding it was for the best, she finally focused on where her distracted wanderings had led her.

            “You have got to be joking,” she muttered, staring up at the old apothecary.  She cursed herself was about to leave when she noticed the door stood wide open.  Her guard was up instantly. 

            Drawing her dagger, she approached the door from the side peering around the jamb carefully.  She saw no one.  Stepping in she checked the rest of the house.   One of the two beds appeared disheveled but not the kind that came with sleep.  Even Trevelyan’s weapons were still on the table.  Something was amiss.

            She heard a soft step and spun around the tip of her dagger pressing into the neck of-

            “Trevelyan?”

            “Good morning, Spymaster.  I see you missed me, but your aim _is_ improving.”

            Leliana held her blade steady at the Herald’s throat.  “I could have killed you, _could_ kill you, and all you can do is joke?”

            “Well, it was either that or soil myself.  I figured I would go with the option that would leave me with my more of my dignity intact, such as it may be.”

            She lowered the blade but not her gaze.  “I thought you were drunk.  When I saw the door open, I- I thought something might have happened to you.”

            Trevelyan frowned.  “Why would you think I was drunk?”

            “Flissa told me about your late night...”

            Trevelyan laughed.  “She did, did she?  Well, no offense to Flissa but I think she was far too busy being run ragged by Bull and his men to notice if I was shitfaced or not.  The Chargers wanted to celebrate their new posting with the Inquisition.  Given their general disposition towards rowdiness, I figured I would act as their host just in case our soldiers and his men didn’t see eye to eye on things.”

            “I see.  Then why was your door open?”

            The Herald held up a small wrapped package, “The weather may be permanently wretched here but it makes keeping meat ridiculously easy.  Care to join me for breakfast?”

            “No,” Leliana replied, even as her stomach growled loudly.

            A huge smile lit up Trevelyan’s face.  “Come again?”

            She sighed, upended by her own stomach, “Fine.  I suppose I can get your report just as easily over breakfast.”

            “Indeed you can.  In fact, I might even give you the details I normally withhold from you,” the Herald winked.

            ***

            Breakfast turned out to be a simple but delicious affair.

            Trevelyan talked easily and at length about her journey to the Storm Coast.  Leliana found herself entranced by the, at times, humorous tale delivered in the Herald’s low, melodic voice.  After a while, she quit listening to the words and instead found herself vested in watching the woman.  She couldn’t recall ever seeing Trevelyan outside of her armor.   And while she was a delight to the eyes clad for battle, she was an aesthetic vision outside of it.  Lithe but muscular, feminine but with a hint of boyishness.  Well-mannered but with an intimation of mischievous danger.

            _If she had ever been introduced to Court, the bard masters and nobles would have been tripping over themselves to bed and claim her._

            She allowed her thoughts to drift into fantasy.  She imagined what it would have been like if things had been different, if she had stayed at Court.  By now, she would have been a bard master and as such, she would be expected to take an apprentice.  Trevelyan would have made an excellent tyro, despite her stubborn Marcher independence.  And Leliana would have been obligated to break Trevelyan of that and cull her into submission.  

            That one thought alone shattered the Spymaster’s careful constructed walls of self-denial.  Arousal flooded through her.  She suddenly became acutely aware of the heat in her loins, the sensitivity of her breasts.  Closing her eyes, she willed and prayed the feeling away.  Instead she saw flashes, visions of Trevelyan’s body stretched, muscles corded, sheened by sweat. She could almost hear anguished, pleasured breath.  A small moan escaped her throat.

            “Are you alright?”

            Her eyes flew open and connected with Trevelyan’s own, the concern evident.

            “Y-yes.  I’m fine.”

            The Marcher frowned, “Are you sure?  Was it my cooking?  Eloie always said I could poison rats with it.”

            Leliana laughed, grateful for the Herald’s knack for defusing awkward situations.  “I’m sure.  I just remembered something that I have to go take care of.”

            “Oh?” Trevelyan looked surprised and not just a bit confused by the sudden shift in their conversation.  “Can I give you a hand?”

            “ _NO!_   I mean- no, thank you.  I’ve got it.” She said, standing up.  “I should go and give Josie and Cullen your report.”

            “Are you sure?” the Herald asked, walking her to the door.  “I could go with you.”

            “Yes, I’m sure,” Leliana replied sweetly. 

            Before she realized what she was doing or could stop herself, she leaned up and kissed Trevelyan lightly on the corner of the mouth.  She smelled like leather and wood smoke. Leliana nearly lost her resolve, “Thank you for breakfast, it was delicious.”

            With that she left the apothecary and one very bewildered Free Marcher behind.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> I woke up today in a state...whatever state that was, I'll let you deduce by the chapter. Needless to say, I remain in said state so I figured I would take some of my 'frustrations' out vicariously. 
> 
> And now you have this update.
> 
> Hope all is well. Hope this romance isn't moving too quickly. Hope I'm even getting the whole concept of 'wooing' and 'romancing' right. Let me know if I'm failing at this much like I did theoretical physics, the first time I took it. I would hate to look like an ignoramus at love. Haha, despite the truth to the statement.
> 
> Enjoy your day, my friend. Feedback welcome. ;)
> 
> Bendithio


	10. Shadows of Redcliffe

* * *

        The sunset was beautiful as she watched it from a copse of trees along the southern road. The Herald had decided to take Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation to visit her at Redcliffe. She had been gone the space of a week, but in that time Josie had managed to drive her to taking afternoon walks with her near incessant chatter about Trevelyan.

        Once the day’s reports started to arrive by courier and messenger bird, Josie would get excited like a school maid and give a running commentary to the reports of and by the Herald. Or she would press Leliana for her opinion of Trevelyan and her actions. Her friend would ply her with endless questions; like if the spymaster had uncovered anything else about the likeable rogue.

        Today, it had been the topic of Trevelyan’s love life. More specifically, if the Marcher had one or not, that had driven her out the door with a need for air.

        _“Do we know if Trevelyan is involved with someone?” Josephine asked aloud, from out of the blue._

_“We, as in me?” Leliana teased._

_“Well, you are a spymaster. I figured you would have used your skill set to find out if she had anyone waiting for her back in Ostwick. Depending on who it is could either improve or damage the Herald’s image.”_

_“Why should I be concerned with the Herald’s image?” Leliana spread her hands. “As long as whomever it is isn’t a weakness that can be exploited against us, it does not matter to me.”_

_Josephine arched a brow. “My goodness. If you quantify your ambivalence much more it will become painfully obvious that you don’t mean it.”_

_Leliana sighed in frustration, “You’re impossible.”_

_“I, am impossible? You’re the one that gets touchy when Trevelyan’s name gets brought up.”_

_“I do not get **touchy**.”_

_Josie laughed, “Then whatever you become. You could have simply said that you didn’t know.”_

_She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Josephine thought her tetchiness was from lack of information and not from how she felt. That gave her pause, what did she feel?_

The sound of approaching horses pulled her from her ruminations. She quickly pressed herself to the shadowed side of a large fir, in case the group was hostile. However, after a moment she saw Cassandra’s unmistakable profile, sitting tall in the saddle followed by Vivienne, Varric with Trevelyan bringing up the rear.

        She kept close to the tree, there was no reason to announce her presence. However, as they rode by Trevelyan picked her head and slowed her horse, looking directly at spot where she stood.

        Leliana knew the look. She had sensed _something_ but if it be friend or foe, she did not know. Cassandra noticed that the Herald was no longer with them and turned her mount. The Herald waved them on. The Seeker looked between the trees and the rogue. Then with a shrug, she continued with the others toward Haven.

        Trevelyan slipped from the saddle, patting the horse on the flank as a signal to put some distance between them. Her mount snorted his disapproval as he trotted away. _At least the horse has sense._

        She noticed that the Herald’s blades were strapped to her back. The bow was nowhere to be seen. _Interesting. When did you switch back?_

        Trevelyan began to ascend the hill carefully. Eyes scanning back and forth looking for whatever _it_ was that she was looking for. Leliana sunk back a bit further. A plan began to form in her head. Perhaps she would teach the Herald a lesson about chasing after the unknown alone.

        She had just made her decision when a raven cried from overhead, pulling her attention away for a brief moment. When she looked back, the Marcher was _gone_.

        _Merde!_ Leliana swore, cursing herself for a beginner’s mistake.

        She readied to move even further back into the trees, when she was pulled tightly against a firm body and soft breasts. A dagger came loosely to her throat.

        “Have we run out of people to spy on, spymaster?” Her whisper was playful. Her breath a warm, tickle behind Leliana’s ear.

        “Of course not, Herald. I just wanted to see if you were foolish enough to leave the safety of your companions and indeed, you are.” She kept her tone cool, despite warmth spreading through her body at the points it touched Trevelyan’s

        A brief feeling of disappointment washed over her as the Marcher laughed and dropped her arms. “I suppose you have me there. So, what are you doing out here?”

        “I was taking a walk to clear my head.”

        “Any particular reason?”

        _Yes._ “No.”

        “Indeed. Care for company?”

        Leliana smiled, “I would love some. You can tell me about Redcliffe. Your reports were…odd.”

        “I’m starting to think that all you ever want to talk about is work,” Trevelyan noted, as she whistled for her mount and leading him by the reins.

        “What else would we talk about?”

        “I don’t know. Something that doesn’t involve the hole in the sky or the world crumbling around us.”

        “Unfortunately, Herald, that severally limits the hot topics in Thedas at the moment.”

        “We could always talk about you,” Trevelyan ventured.

        “We could,” she agreed. “But it would be a one sided conversation on your part, Herald.”

        The Marcher winced, “Not one to hold back, are you?”

        “Not usually,” she glanced sideways and regretted it. She realized then how harsh her response had been. “Forgive me, Lady Herald. I’m afraid that in my business there is only one reason for questions.”

        “And I don’t suppose that reason is ‘I feel like finding out more about this wonderful person’?”

        “You can trust when I say one doesn’t meet many won-” she caught the meaning, “Did you say, wonderful?”

        Trevelyan smiled, “I suppose I did.”

        “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she flirted lightly, but there was no response, “Boys?”

        She laughed, “Is this your way of trying to figure out my preferences? Did Lady Montilyet put you up to this?”

        “I- no. I mean, yes. I mean, _no_! I am not trying to _figure_ out your preferences. If I wanted to know, I would simply ask-”

        “Would you?” Trevelyan intoned, her smile widening.

        “ _And_ as for Josie,” she ignored the question, “She was the one who was pondering if you were involved with anyone.”

        “Really, Josie? And why would she be speculating about that?”

        Leliana gave a knowing smirk and tilted her head, “Come now, Herald. Isn’t it obvious?”

        Finally, a waiver in confidence, “Isn’t what obvious?”

        The Spymaster leaned in close, so that her lips lightly brushed the Herald’s ear, “The Lady Ambassador has a slight infatuation with you.”

        She watched as skin prickled under the caress of her breath. The Marcher’s jaw flexed as she suppressed her response to Leliana’s words and proximity, “Does she? I had no idea.”

        She had to give the Herald credit. Leliana would not have known of Trevelyan’s response by the normalcy of her voice.

        “She does.”

        “Well, I am very flattered.”

        “But?”

        “But? No, _but_. I am flattered. Let’s talk about Redcliffe.” The Herald digressed quickly back to the original suggested topic.

        Leliana giggled, “Alright, work it is.”

        “Who said anything about work? We could talk about Redcliffe without me trying to fill you in on time altering magic. Dorian tried to explain it to me, but all I got was ‘blah, blah, blah - Trevinter Magister; blah, blah - time altering magic; something blah…’It’s a trap’.”

        “ _A trap_? Time altering magic? What in the Maker’s name are you talking about?” Leliana demanded, Trevelyan could be so frustrating with her ‘devil may care’ attitude at times.

        “Don’t worry, Spymaster. Vivienne edited my report. I think she might have crossed out some of the ‘blahs’ and put in actual information with possible explanations. I’m sure you will be more than informed between the Seeker and the Imperial Enchanter.”

        As much as she wanted to press her for information, she made a mental note to catch up with Cassandra. The Seeker had become something like a “handler” for the Herald. Leliana could always count on her counterpart to fill in the gaps that Trevelyan either purposefully left or simply did not find important enough to share.

        “Then if you don’t want to talk about the plot on your life, what do you wish to talk about?”

        “The Hero of Ferelden.”

        Said out loud, by the Herald, the title stabbed deeply into her heart.

        “I saw the monument to her in the village. Cassandra said you knew her…?”

        She took a deep breath, she knew this moment was eventually going to come. But now that it was here? Leliana gathered her strength.

        “Yes. I did. We were in love,” she paused gathering her composure. “With her at my side, I could do _anything_. I was free. She was my song. Then she died.”

        _In her mind, she saw Elissa firing arrow after arrow into the Archdemon. Wynne casting spell after spell trying to wear down the beast. Her own arrows hitting their mark but nothing was working._

_Then she saw it. The look of resolve on her lover’s face. Elissa tossed her bow away._

_“NO!” she screamed as Elissa scooped up a discarded sword and charged the dragon, intent on finishing the fight._

_Leliana kept firing, unable to do anything else but watch in horror as Elissa jumped, hefting herself onto the neck of the dragon. She drew the sword up for the finishing blow. Their eyes met._

_**I’m sorry, Leli.** She could almost hear the unspoken apology._

_Elissa drove the blade into the soft spot of the Archdemon’s skull. A blast of energy erupted upward from the wound, lighting the darkened sky in a crimson, magenta light._

_“Elissa!” Leliana screamed._

_She dropped her bow and ran to her unmoving lover. She cradled her close and sobbed, rocking as her tears fell onto a beautiful, lifeless face._

        “In that instant, I felt the Maker’s presence grow cold. One moment a cherished child, the next…abandoned.” She finished, glancing towards Trevelyan whose own features held empathetic sadness. “I-I’m sorry. I do not wish to talk about this…”

        “I understand. I’m sorry for your loss, Leliana. I had no idea about…” she trailed off and then cleared her throat, “I truly am sorry.”

        An awkward silence fell between them. The spymaster then realized that Trevelyan’s ‘c’est la vie’ bravado was carefully constructed to hide a tender soul. She decided to save the Herald from descending too far into a place of darkness and loss.

        “You called me by my name,” she said.

        “That I did,” Trevelyan replied, thankful for the reprieve.

        “Does this mean, I can call you by your first name?” Leliana teased.

        The Herald furrowed her brow in consternation. “Absolutely, not.”

        “What?! Why?” She demanded.

        “Because my parents named me Evelyn…Trevlyan. Do you know how mean children are? I was teased mercilessly growing up. ‘Evel-yan Trevelyan’. That’s what they would call me in their sing-songy little tones. I hated it and so no, you cannot call me by my first name.”

        Leliana couldn’t help a small giggle, envisioning a young Evelyn wanting to punch her fellow playmates and fighting off the urge to cry. Her heart actually went out to the younger version of Trevelyan.

        “Very well, then what do I call you?” she asked.

        “Well, Eloie always called me Evey but that is bit further along in familiarity than we are at. Our horse masters call me Trev…is that acceptable?”

        Leliana smiled as she tried the name out in her head. It fit the Herald, more so than all any of her other titles. She nodded, “Yes.”

        “I’m glad we got that straightened out,” Trev glanced at her as Haven came into view. “Does this mean we are friends?”

        Leliana shrugged, a small smile playing upon her lips, “We’ll see.”

        ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> I'm wiped. 
> 
> Hope you have had a wonderful day. Enjoy.
> 
> Bendithio


	11. Present & Future Tense

* * *

            Something had happened to Trevelyan.

            She was uncharacteristically short with Cullen and reserved with her humor. She was elusive when Leliana brought up the dark future she had reported on. Her formal account had been concise to the point of detached. Leliana knew that somehow she herself had played a significant role in the Herald’s success at Redcliffe but- time magic? What had she seen?

            After Trevelyan accepted Dorian’s offer of help, the weary rogue didn’t even excuse herself, she instead left the Chantry without a word. It was then that Spymaster noticed the Herald was favoring her right side. Concerned for her well-being, Leliana slipped out a side door and trailed her back to the old apothecary.

            She waited for a while after Trev went inside, contemplating what to do. If she knocked on the door, there was a good chance that the Marcher would tolerate her politely whilst answering her elusively before finding a reason to excuse herself from the conversation. Then again, if Trevelyan was injured, she may very well need a healer’s attention. _And she’s just stubborn enough not to go._

            Deciding on a plan that would ease her concerns for the Herald’s welfare and still give her space, Leliana alighted across the snow and crouched below a window. Fishing a small mirror from her pocket, she angled it above the corner of the window so that she could see most of the interior.

            A wooden bath tub sat near the fire in the center of the room, steam was beginning to fog the glass. A half dozen buckets lay strewn about and Trevelyan was struggling to get out of her undershirt. Cursing and turning in a circle she wriggled and pulled the thin fabric with her non-dominant hand over her head, revealing massive bruising and still mending wounds from just below the shoulder and armpit, over most of her right flank, to her hip.   When the Marcher turned her attention to her breeches, Leliana lowered the mirror.

            She bit the corner of her lip in thought. It was obvious that Trevelyan hadn’t informed anyone of her injuries. Which meant either she didn’t want to worry anybody or she was of the belief that the title she had been saddled with did not leave her with an option to appear anything _less_ than superhuman. Either reason was foolish and isolating but it was obvious that the Herald was using it. It occurred to her then that the woman, despite all outward appearances, was still grieving and felt very much alone. _She’s going to get herself killed that way._

            Making up her mind, Leliana moved off to the side, stood and knocked on the door. She heard a frustrated sigh which was cut short by a yip of pain, “Go. Away.”

            She opened the door, stepped in and pressing her back against it, shut it. “I’m sorry Herald. I can’t do that.”

            The water came up to Trevelyan’s chest, gently lapping against the soft underside of her breasts. Between the sculpted muscles of her body juxtaposed against the smooth flesh of her bosom, the Marcher would have been a delightful revelation except that the nasty bruising wrapped nearly half way around the front of her as well. She made no attempt to move or cover up, most likely because it would hurt like hell.

            “Ah, Spymaster. Of course... Please, let yourself in.  Pull up a chair.  Make yourself at home,” Trev panned. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t _stand_ for propriety’s sake.”

            “You’re forgiven,” she teased.

            Trevelyan did not look amused, “To what do I owe this _visit_?”

            Pushing away from the door, Leliana drew back her hood, “I came to talk to you.”

            “I was under the impression that all the talking for today was done. You have my report. Did I forget something?” She frowned as she watched Leliana undo the clasp of her chainmail at the right shoulder.

            “Yes.” She replied, opening the jacket and shrugging out of it.

            “Oh?”

            “There is the matter of the future you saw and you forgot to mention you were injured,” she replied. Down to a light undershirt and leather breeches, Leliana laid her mail aside.

            “So…you figured you would stop by and start undressing? This explains all my failed attempts at getting beautiful women to join me in the bath. Apparently, time traveling is what really woos the ladies.”

            “Who said I was joining you?” She asked, hands on her hips.   She glanced at a wash cloth that had dropped next to the tub and nodded towards it. “If you can reach that, I will leave you to your own devices.”

            The Herald moved to see what Leliana was talking about and grimaced in obvious pain.

            “Do I need to further prove my point?”

            Trev glared in defeat, “No.”

            She picked up a stool and walked over to the bath. Keeping her eyes politely diverted from anything below the Herald’s chest, she set the stool behind the tub and picked up the wash cloth, dipping it in the warm water.

            "I was joking about pulling up a chair."

            “Hush, I know.  Try to relax, Trevelyan.  I have some experience in this.”

            “Let yourself into people’s houses and bathe them often, do you?”

            She rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not the part where I let myself in. But, yes, I have bathed a few people in my time. It’s one of the many tools at a bard's disposal to put a client at _ease_.”

            “Oh? And why would a bard do that?” Trev asked, her tone revealing that she was anything but _at ease_.

            “Information, blackmail, sometimes assassination. It depends on what a bard’s patron wants,” she replied, starting with the non-injured side she gently scrubbed the Marcher’s skin.

            “And if a _client_ doesn’t relax, then what?”

            “There is always the bed.”

            She stifled a laugh when the Marcher’s breath hitched and a furious blush reached the tips of her ears, “Bed, really? I had no idea.”

            “Yes,” she managed a serious response, “But, most of the time, the bath works just fine to loosen lips.”

            “Well. Now, I don’t know whether to tell you of the future I saw or let you try and slog me over for the details.”

            The words, their meaning, the subtle insinuation all worked together to shake loose a long forgotten pleasure.  A desire that flirted with the border of need.  And despite how she resisted and told herself that the sum of the Grand Game was a fool’s errand. She could not deny that she missed the intrigue. She missed the passion. She missed the dalliance. She missed the sport. She missed the control. She missed the Game and all the _ways_ it could be played.

            Deciding to have a bit of fun at the Herald’s expense she leaned over the woman’s shoulder, lips hovering close to her ear and murmured, “Ah, but that is where your naivety shows. There are many ways a bed can be used and there are many ways to extract information. Given what you just let slip, Trevelyan, I would employ a much _different_ method with you.”

            Much to her surprise and not at all what she had expected the response to be, she felt Trevelyan tense under her hands.

            “What’s wrong?” she asked quickly, bewildered at a perceived misstep.

            “It’s nothing. Just-” Leliana waited, patiently continuing to wash as she triaged the Herald’s injuries. “The future I saw…in it you had been captured and tortured by Alexis. He had used you to study blight sickness. You had languished a year in Redcliffe’s dungeons. You sacrificed yourself so that I could return here.”

            There was a heaviness to her demeanor. It was the same heaviness that inhabited her when she discussed her twin. It was anguish and loss hidden by blanketed detachment. For the Free Marcher, she had witnessed Leliana’s death and while the Spymaster was, of course, alive and well; it did not erase the fact that her death had been very real for Trevelyan. It was then she realized the Herald was actually struggling with a cognitive dissonance. Leliana was alive but yet the Herald grieved for a version of her.

            “Of course I did,” Leliana spoke lightly trying to dismiss the implication of it, “One small life in exchange for a second chance at history? I always loved a bargain.”

            “It was still a sacrifice and still noble,” Trevelyan pointed out.

            “And I would do it again,” she said simply, realizing that she meant every word.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> I apologize for the delay. I needed a day to recover from life. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful day, my friend. Feedback welcome. And remember: there is a reason why the road less traveled, is the road less traveled. Puts it in a different perspective, no?
> 
> -Bendithio


	12. Of Fade & Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear Reader,
> 
> If you are following Ab Intra - then my apologizes that I have yet again messed with the schedule and post to this fic before posting to the ME fic. I promise I will make it up to you.
> 
> As for the rest of everyone else...
> 
> Happy Tuesday! Here's an unexpected update.

 

* * *

            Haven was burning.

            The fires from the decimated hamlet lit up the valley in an eerie orange light. She strained to hear the sounds of fighting echoing up the narrow canyon, but when the acrhdemon had landed the sounds of battle ceased and there was no indication that the Herald still lived.

            It was killing her.

            She hadn’t got the chance to say goodbye. After Trevelyan had sealed the breach, there had been messages to send, allies to inform, agents to debrief and then a party had broken out. Every soul in Haven had wanted to thank and congratulate the Herald. A large group had surrounded the Free Marcher for hours after her return. Leliana couldn’t have gotten near her if she tried.

            “Sister Nightingale,” Scout Harding pulled her from her thoughts, “Commander Cullen sends word that the last of the refugees are above the tree line. He says to fire the signal, when you are ready.”

            Harding barely whispered the last part of her message. Leliana looked down and saw her feelings reflected back on the scout’s face: shock, anger, grief and fear. However, their fear was not for their own lives. Their gazes met and Harding nodded once in encouragement. Leliana notched an arrow that had been soaked in oil and lit it against the torch Harding held. As she aimed for optimal arc, she said a prayer:

            _“Maker, if Trevelyan lives through this, I will take it as a sign that your will for me is her. But if she should perish tonight, take her to your side. As I suspect **you** know by now, she and Elissa have plenty in common. If I may be so bold as to say; I think I’ve figured out your type. Amen.”_

            She let the arrow fly. She hadn’t meant to be so flippant in her prayer but she was getting _really_ sick of the games he seemed to play.

            “Forgive me,” she whispered.

            ***

            “I want a wagon burnt every league,” she ordered her agents.

            “Are you insane? Why not leave a note telling the Elder One where we’re headed?” Cullen yelled over the driving snow. “I thought you were supposed to be a master at covert.”

            She stalked up to the ex-Templer and leaned close so that the troops wouldn’t hear; “I would burn that ridiculous coat, your stupid hair and this whole fucking mountain down if I thought it would help the Herald survive and find us.”

            “We don’t even know _if_ she survived. Maybe five hundred of us did, but for how long is anyone’s guess because you keep burning our _wagons!_ ”

            “If you’re so concerned about the wagons, then maybe I can find some use for _you_ on the next pyre,” she seethed.

            “I’d like to see you try, Nightingale.”

            “You wouldn’t see anything but _my_ arrow sticking out of _your_ chest,” she replied steadily.

            “W-would y-you two s-stop it,” Josephine came up chattering beside them. “A-arguing won’t do any good. If L-Leliana thinks that the Herald survived than we burn the wagons. At least I’ll get to warm up, e-every so often.”

            Cullen threw his hands down in disgust and trudged away.

            “Thank you, Josie.”

            “D-don’t thank me yet. If Trevelyan d-didn’t survive. He’ll p-probably make you carry t-the supplies.”

            Leliana shook her head, watching the Commander walk away, “No. He’s too much of a gentleman.”

            The two friends started forward together, their arms wrapped around each other for warmth and an unspoken need for comfort.

            “Do you t-think she made it?”

            She sighed remembering how the mountain had nearly fallen out from underneath her and Harding as they escaped further up the wall of the valley, “I don’t know. I hope so.”

            ***

            She tossed in her sleep. Dreams and nightmares danced through her head. One replacing the other only to change again.

            _She and Elissa attacked from a vantage point above the trebuchet. Below, the Herald and Cassandra fought on as waves of Red Templers poured in from the burning village._

_“This place has changed since we were last here,” Elissa said conversationally, firing an arrow into the neck of a knight. “Hard to say if it’s improved, considering it’s burning down and what not.”_

_She smirked, “A lot has changed in the last ten years.”_

_“Have you?”_

_“Changed? Perhaps. But I haven’t loved anyone since you.” Her arrow found its mark, dropping a marksman that was taking aim at an unawares Trevelyan._

_“That’s a shame.” Another arrow, another dead foot solider._

_“How is that a shame?” She glanced sideways at Elissa, “I figured you’d be happy, or at least, honored."_

_“It’s a shame because it means you truly have changed,” Cousland met her gaze. “But not necessarily for the better and why would I be ‘honored’? I'm dead."_

_Before she could respond the archdemon screamed from high above them, circling. She looked down in time to see Trevelyan order Cassandra to retreat. Fear for the Seeker and the Herald filled her soul. The archdemon circled, then landed in front of the Herald, who stood alone. Leliana fought the urge to go to her._

_“You realize that if she makes it through this,” Elissa’s smile was off-putting in the madness of the situation, “There might be something to that saying of letting ‘the best woman win’.”_

_She frowned at her old lover’s words, “Are you letting me go?”_

_Elissa looked surprised. She reached out and touched Leliana’s cheek, a faint ghost of a caress, “Leli, I let go of everything when I died. It is **you** that needs to let go.”_

_Tears welled up, stinging her eyes, “But-“_

_“Did you once tell me that the key to being a bard, as with life, was all about timing?”_

_She nodded._

_“It’s time to let go, so you can start living.”_

_“If Trevelyan didn’t make it out of Haven, it won’t matter. There won’t be a lot of time left to live,” she said miserably._

_“I guess you won’t know that until you **wake up**.”_

            ***

            “-Wake up. Leli, wake up!”

            She felt someone shake her shoulder. As consciousness returned, her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly. It took her a moment to gather her bearings as her dream had left her shaken. Her eyes fell on Josephine.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Yes,” her voice was rough, she cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Nightmare is all. Not that I’m not grateful, but why did you wake me up?”

            “The Herald is alive! Cassandra and Cullen just brought her into camp. Maker be praised!” She said excitedly but her demeanor fell.

            “What aren’t you telling me?”

            “The Herald collapsed just before making it over the ridge. Mother Giselle is watching over her but Cullen- he’s on a war path.”

            Leliana sighed. “Of course he is. I will go speak with him.”

            Standing, her eyes fell on a tent across the way. Mother Giselle sat next to Trevelyan’s unmoving figure. All she wanted to do was go over and check on the Herald herself; touch her face, feel her breath. Part of her needed to do so because she was in disbelief. Trevelyan’s continued existence, despite all odds, meant that she _had_ to believe. Because any other explanation for the events of the past few days seemed trite to the point of impossible.

            “We’re not moving until the Herald recovers her strength!” Cassandra’s voice echoed over the tents.

            “Then why don’t I go order the troops to paint a target in the snow for the archdemon to find,” came Cullen’s retort.

            “Trevelyan dropped a mountain on herself and that thing. If it was coming it would have found us by now, as the Herald did. But it hasn’t, so it won’t. We’re staying the night.” Cassandra ground out.

            “Over my dead body!” Cullen spat.

            “That can be arranged.”

            Josie sighed, “We’d better go before Cassandra makes good on her threat.”

            With another glance towards the tent, Leliana nodded.

            ***

            She had watched Solas and the Herald from the shadows as the mage discussed the mystical anchor’s origins. Leliana noted that fatigue still clung to the woman but there was something lighter about her spirit.  Leliana had heard her mention talking with the Elder One, Corypheus. She was curious about _that_ conversation. Was there something in that, that had changed Trevelyan? Leliana folded her arms impatiently. Funny, Solas had never struck her as the prattling sort.

            Finally the conversation ended. The mage took his leave as the Herald turned towards the vista before her, content to be alone. As he passed by, he paused a few feet from where she stood.

            “You are a most curious person, Spymaster.”

"How so?"

            “You have always walked in two different worlds. I’ve seen you in the fade when the Hero of Ferelden ended the blight. I’ve watched your loss.”

            Suddenly, irrationally, she felt violated. Although she understood little of the elf mage or his abilities, the knowledge that he had somehow born witness to the shattering of her heart and soul in the fade, made her unbelievably angry. Not that history was her sole property but _that_ was _her_ grief.

            “And you mages wonder why people don’t trust you. No one should have that kind of power. Power over life and death, time, the fade and what do you do with it? Peep into other people’s lives.”

            “Don’t you have nearly all the same powers but in a corporeal manner and what do _you_ do with it?”

            Leliana turned her face as if the words were blows.

            “When the Warden died so did a piece of you,” He continued, his tone softening. “You live but your spirit is fractured; torn between this plane and the next. Inquisitively, Trevelyan’s purpose seems to be to serve as link between the two. I wonder if you will avail yourself of the opportunity presented.”

            With that he continued past her.

            _Damn him. What does he know about these things?_ She sighed admitting to herself probably a whole lot more than she did. She started forward, leaving the shadows and stepping into the warm blue mage light. Trevelyan turned her head and smiled.

            “Spymaster. I figured you would find me the minute I tried to escape the maddening crowd.”

            “You realize by now that no one escapes from me? Not even you, Herald.”

            “Ah, see, that’s where you are mistaken. According to Corypheus this is his doing,” she held up her left hand, “So, Andraste’s Herald I am not. I get to go back being _Evel-yan_ Trevelyan, unlucky rogue extraordinaire.”

            And with the revelation of her words, Trevelyan went from being an untouchable messenger of divine grace, to a flesh and blood mortal with wants, desires, needs, the capacity for mistakes but more importantly the unique ability to love based solely on faith.  It was intoxicating.

            “I wouldn’t get too comfortable in the thought that the Maker is done with you,” she said stepping close, “I know I’m not.”

            Leliana closed the distance, catching Trevelyan’s face in her hands, she pulled her into a mind-numbing kiss that was both hungry and sweet.

            Breaking away breathless, her heart pounding, she chuckled at the smug albeit bewildered look playing on Trev's features.

            “We should do this more often,” the Marcher managed.

            “Don’t let it go to your head. I know where you sleep Trevelyan,” she murmured, adjusting the rogue’s jacket for her before walking away with a wink and an extra swing to her hips.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, dear Reader.
> 
> I figured I wanted to get everyone out of Haven, because let's admit it. The game got much better when you got to Skyhold and it just follows that this story will get much better once we get to Skyhold. ;)
> 
> Also, if you notice after Haven Leliana (though not overtly chatty) becomes much friendlier. I figured that if one party to a romance arc (especially a 2nd love arc) has to have that "going to the mountain top" moment, then what better time for the Spymaster to have it than when she is singing a spiritual on a mountain top. :) I think it works well.
> 
> However, if you think it doesn't. Or you disagree with my timing. Or you think it was perfect timing and really like the flow and have hopes and dreams for what the future holds for the Inquisitor and her Spymaster - let me know...feedback welcome...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, my friend. I know I was happy to write it for you.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Bendithio


	13. Inquisitive Players

* * *

            Trevelyan had new clothes that hugged both her curves and her planes.

            Leliana hung back at the top of the stairs in the Inquisitor's quarters. As she took in the view, she tried the title out on the Free Marcher, her eyes roaming over the leather pants and vest, all in rugged rich browns, accented by polished silver buckles.  Leliana approved.  _I bet that outfit would look better on the floor…_

            “I know you’re there, Spymaster.” 

            Her attention snapped back to the moment from the brief fantasy she allowed herself to entertain.  The Inquisitor hadn’t turned from the balcony railing.

            “I wouldn’t recommend jumping.  I know of at least nineteen necromages at Skyhold alone.  We’d just bring you back,” she said, joining Trevelyan in taking in an actual vista.

            “Well, there goes my plan A,” Trev intoned with a smile. “I was actually contemplating tossing the _‘Sword of the Inquisitor’_ off of here.  It really is a very appealing idea, at first.”

            “But?”

            “But then I realized knowing my luck, it would just impale some poor bastard below and what kind of message would that send? I could only imagine the gossip back in the Marches!  ‘ _Did you hear about Bann Trevelyan’s whelp?  Made it to the top and started dropping swords on people.  Swords!’’_ ” She thickened her accent ridiculously in imitation, and then sighed, “My mother would be mortified.  I would never hear the end of it.  And _that_ , my dear spymaster, would be when I would jump.”

            “Is she that bad?” she giggled.

            “Worse,” Trev huffed, rolling her eyes to the right.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Eh, don’t worry about it.  With any luck, you’ll never have to meet her.”

            “I’m hurt.  You wouldn’t take me home to meet your parents?” She gave a believable pout.

            “I-what? No! I mean – yes.” She fell for it hook, line and sinker, “I mean- sweet merciful Maker, why is my mouth still moving? I-“

            Leliana silenced her with a kiss.

            If she was honest with herself, it was all she had _wanted_ to do for a fortnight, ever since that fateful night in the Frostbacks.  She had thought about it, dreamt about it and had even begun to fantasize about it.  Instead of walking away, she would take her to a tent and make love. Sometimes she would fuck Trevelyan senseless but always, always, _always_ the daydream left her wanting.

            The memory (or fantasy) wasn’t anywhere close to reality: soft lips, sweet breath, firm kiss.  She had forgotten how wonderful it was to kiss someone and it helped that, that someone knew what they were doing.  Lightly playing, teasing and nipping; tongue smoothing over the supple skin, stoking a rising fire in her lower belly.  When the kiss ended, she sighed contentedly not wanting to leave the warmth of Trevelyan’s arms that she had managed to sneak around her waist. 

            “Are you going to tell me what _that_ was for?” she asked, resting her forehead briefly against Leliana’s.

            “To shut you up, of course,” she winked.

            “Oh?  Remind me to relay all of Josephine’s reports to you then.”

            She laughed, “That wouldn’t actually get you another kiss but it might help convince me to assist you with your ‘Plan A’.”

            “Duly noted,” she smiled, eyes dancing playfully.  “So, spymaster, don’t keep me in suspense.  Did you come here to talk or just kiss up to the Free Marcher with her fancy new title?”

            “Actually, I _did_ come here to talk to the _Inquisitor_ about her new title, yes.” She paused, “How do you like it?”

            “The title or position?”

            “Either, both.  You can’t have one without the other.”

            “Truthfully, I don’t know.  The title seems, eh, rather intimidating… _Inquisitor_.  I don’t think it will get me too many suitors and I have a feeling that those who wouldn’t be opposed to dating someone with such a grand and galling designation, probably would have some serious kink to them.  As for the position?  Again, I don’t know.  I’m so used to being on the bottom, I have no idea how to be on top.”   Trev said, walking back into the warmth of her room.

            The words, though spoken innocently, sparked wicked thoughts in her mind.

            “I wouldn’t worry too much about these things, Inquisitor.  One, anyone interested in _courting_ you would of course be vetted by me.  I can assure you that I am _very_ picky.  You are, after all, my Inquisitor.  Two, the best _tops_ were once excellent _bottoms_ ,” she smiled innocently. “I could teach you, if you like.”

            She worried that she had misjudged the Marcher, as Trevelyan’s face remained unreadable but after a moment, she noticed a blush creeping up her neck.  Leliana had to admire Trev’s ability to maintain an air of dignity even as her own body betrayed her to the bard: pupils dilated, breath slightly quickened – Leliana could only guess at the type of lusts or desires the Inquisitor was surely beating back in her mind.  The spymaster found she _liked_ that thought.

            “I-" Trevelyan began, voice hitched a pitch higher than normal, she cleared her throat politely.  “I am not opposed to learning new things.”  

            “Wonderful,” she smiled. "While we are on the subject, the rest of the advisors and I think that you should probably take up a specialization with your blades…”

            Trevelyan sighed heavily as the Spymaster switched back into work mode, _informing_ the Marcher of her impending future.

            ***

            “Sister Nightingale, might I have a word?”

            “Of course Imperial Enchanter, are your quarters suitable?” Leliana asked glancing up at the balcony overlooking the Inquisition throne. 

            It wasn’t lost on her as to _why_ the Imperial Court enchanter had claimed the area for her “quarters”.  She was physically above the throne of the Inquisition.  It gave the appearance to those who entered the grand hall that Vivienne was the one who truly oversaw the Inquisitor.  Those that would see her would, in their minds, give more power to the Enchanter than what she truly had. They would prattle and kowtow to her instead of the Inquisitor – even if it was done subconsciously.   It irked Leliana to no end.

            “Absolutely, I wouldn’t dream of moving.  Best view in all of Skyhold and right at the heart of a burgeoning court, which will forever alter the landscape of Thedas.  It’s rather exciting, wouldn’t you say?”

            “Riveting,” Leliana replied dryly.

            “Indeed it is.  There are so many variables!  For instance, the Inquisitor-”

            “What about her?” she asked a bit too quickly and cursed herself for it.

            Vivienne was readying to bring the Game to Skyhold and Leliana knew it.

            “She has no idea the political complexity of Orlais.  You and I both know that makes her vulnerable,” the enchanter began.

            “You mean: she has no idea about the Game and that paints a target on her back.”

            “Or her front… depending on whomever beds and _trains_ her.”

            Leliana could feel anger and protectiveness rising in her chest.  This wasn’t the first _'parlay'_ she had ever engaged in nor was it the first time that the _‘gamble’_ was over who would have _‘first go’_ but it was the first time that she had a personal stake in the matter.  And from the scrutinizing look the enchantress was giving her, Vivienne had her suspicions.  Which meant, the spymaster would have to be careful.  Whole kingdoms had been brought to ruin and bloody wars started because a player had developed personal attachments to the _‘pieces’_.  And while the knight-enchanter appeared to side with the Inquisitor and stand for what they were trying to accomplish – it didn’t negate the fact that the only cause the Imperial Enchanter truly believed in was her own.

            “I see,” she replied, again glancing towards Vivienne’s lofted room, “Am I to take that you have so sort of design on the matter?”

            “Perish the thought, my dear.  How would it look if I was seen consorting with Inquisitor Trevelyan while Bastien is unwell?  Besides, you know I’ve never been one for the dalliances of bards.  I prefer maneuvering to manipulating.”

            She had to bite her tongue at the backhand.  Not many people talked down to her and lived to talk again but De Fer was a fixture in the Orlesian Court and if something happened to her under the Inquisitor’s roof, the whole of the Inquisition would suffer.

            “Six of one, half-dozen of the other. I didn’t know you thought so little of me,” Leliana said sweetly.

            “That’s where you are wrong, dear.  I think the world of you!  However, a bard is aware of her reputation and _your_ reputation proceeds you.  There isn’t a soul in Val Royeaux that hasn’t heard of you, Nightingale.  You were the last of Marjolaine’s pet projects and she was a masterful manipulator.  And while I cannot speak well of her as a person, her talents were nonpareil.  In fact, there has been speculation in the Council of Heralds for some time now, as to if the pupil will ever return to exceed the master.”

            “Well, there should be little _speculation_.  You know very well that I no longer play the Game.”

            Vivienne smiled patiently, “Of course, my dear!  But we both know the old adage: _‘A player may leave the Game, but they never quit the field.’_   You’ve proven that true by your continued appearances at Court in your capacity as the Left Hand.”

            Leliana remained silent.  At that moment, every word, every action, even subtle autonomic responses would be subject to the Enchanter’s scrutiny.  One small misstep and the spymaster along with the Inquisition would suffer yet untold political consequences that would have far reaching effects.  She decided on tactical deferment.  There were times when the appearance of acquiescing bought precious time to assess the nature of the threat.

            “This is true, the Divine often sent me to observe Court.  That does not mean that I have the desire to dive back into the thick of it Madame,” she said evenly.

            “ _’Observe’_ , indeed, is that what Justinia called it? She was always delightfully proper, which is funny given her past-“

            “Its poor form to speak ill of the dead, Enchanter.  Especially the Divine,” the rebuke was sharp and she made it without thought to consequence.  There were _somethings_ that were off limits.

            “I’m sorry,” she backpedaled out of propriety and not contrition, “Please forgive me, Sister Nightingale, I meant no disrespect for our dearly departed Divine.”

            Leliana said nothing, simply fixing her gaze on the Imperial Enchanter.  _If you insist on playing…_

            “I was simply remarking that you aren’t so far from the Game that you can feign ignorance as to what you and the other advisors have done to Lady Trevelyan.  What’s worse?  You stand here before me after exiting the Inquisitor’s personal chambers and insist you have no desire to play the Game.  If you speak the truth then shame on you, Spymaster.  I thought you had better custom.  How very cowardly of the Inquisition leadership to throw a blissfully naïve Free Marcher into the shark infested waters of courtly intrigue and leave her to drown.  Especially you, Nightingale.  You of all people know how _deadly_ it is, yet, you toy with Trevelyan but you do not teach her.  Tell me, does the master plan for the Inquisition involve making the Inquisitor a martyr?  If so, I’ll just pack my things now.”

            It was all she could do to not react to the words.  There was truth to them and she knew it.  She couldn’t tell if the Imperial Enchanter was trying to incite her to violence or if the worldly woman was actually trying to help.  She decided on a risky gambit - the direct approach.

            “Why are you bringing this to me?”

            The look of disapproval faded and Vivienne’s face softened,

            “Because Lady Nightingale, you and I both know; _'battles are won with blades and lost in blood; wars are won in le cœur and lost in la chambre.'_   If you do nothing another, who is willing, will _take_ Trevelyan and tutor her.  I see how she catches your eye.  Are you willing to let her fall into the hands of a party who has _less_ than her best interests at heart?  Of which, there are many.”

            “No,” she said quietly.

            “Then might I recommend you do something about your positioning?  Because my dear,” her wistful smile did not fool the spymaster, “the Game is afoot.”

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> So, I've been having thoughts. And before you ask, yes it hurt. Yes, there was smoke. Yes, I know, it's a dangerous thing to do that pesky thinking. And I had a few ideas...
> 
> I accept the fact that the romance genre is not my forte. Therefore, before I fumbled my way into an overtly action plot and everyone begins to hate me for switching horses - I would delve this work into the 'romance/sexy political intrigue' genre. (I know political intrigue is anything but sexy...I mean c'mon try using the word "sexy" while imaging all the world's leaders naked in a room together - see? Can't do it. Lmao.) However, I digress. What say you to this? Because if it goes just plain "romance" this is going to be a short story that ends badly (haha if I write what I know about the subject).
> 
> Anyhow - I hope you enjoyed the update. You will be getting more and often since I am culling my schedule for a few weeks. Then, I'll be back to writing two at a time. Well, who knows? Maybe I'll finish this one in that time and then jump back into Mass Effect. Haha - I don't know yet. ... And sorry for writing my thoughts down, literally. LOL
> 
> Have a wonderful day, my friend. Be safe, smile and then give it to someone else. :) 
> 
> Bendithio


	14. Tempests, Troubles & Trevelyans

* * *

            Trevelyan had drawn quite the crowd.

            Everyone from kitchen staff to visiting dignitaries had started assembling around the lower courtyard by the stables. The nobles and highbrows had gathered on the arch bridge between the rookery and Cullen’s tower. Workers and staff had gathered on the spiraled stairs that led to the kitchen. Soldiers, agents, hands and merchants gathered by the stable.   All were entranced by the performance:

            The Inquisitor broke flask after flask over her body. Each bottle containing a different alchemical concoction that would wreathe her in either flame, frost or she would simply disappear in a burst of lightning. Ozone and smoke filled the air. Master Kihm’s barked, unpredictable commands ricocheted off of the courtyard walls as quickly as the elixirs wore off.  The crowd would go especially wild whenever Trev cracked bottled lightning over herself and proceed to reduce a practice dummy to splinters in the span of a five count.

           While it was absolutely enthralling to watch the Free Marcher engulfed in flames one moment, only to be shrouded by thick ice the next or completely disappearing to the eye save for the occasional flurry; Leliana privately wished Trevelyan had chosen to become an assassin or, even better, an artificer. The way of the Tempest seemed to be on the slight side of insane and not a wee bit dangerous.

            The spymaster had absconded with the ambassador, a lunch basket and a bottle of wine to the ruined eastern wall that overlooked the lower courtyard to watch Trevelyan. She was beginning to think that the rest of Skyhold had decided to follow suit. _We need to find better entertainment for these people._

            Josephine squealed with delight and clapped excitedly as the Inquisitor appeared to burst into flames, “Isn’t she wonderful?”

            “Did you just _gush?_ ” she accused lightheartedly.

            The ambassador had the decency to look appalled, “I most certainly did _not_. I simply expressed my appreciation for the Inquisitor’s talents.”

            “By _gushing_ ,” she amended.

            “And you say that I am impossible,” Josephine groused. “But, what I was talking about?”

            “You were telling me that there is trouble with the Trevelyans again,” she said returning her attention to the assembly, scanning for any possible threats to the Inquisitor’s safety.

            “Ah yes. I received word from Lady Buttlefort that there are some very scandalous rumors making the rounds in Starkhaven. She suspects the same relatives you dealt with before. The ringleader’s name is Bann Dorner but he has done a fairly good job covering his involvement. We need to head this off before the masquerade at the Winter Palace.”

            “So it’s started already,” she murmured.

            Josephine frowned, “What are you talking about?”

            She sighed. The conversation with Vivienne has weighed heavily on her since the night that it had occurred. Trevelyan had left a few days afterwards and had been gone for a couple weeks on various tasks and general gallivanting to spread the Inquisition’s reach and reputation. Leliana had hoped to figure out what she wanted to do about the Marcher, what she felt for her, while she was gone but she found that she was no closer to answers than before.

            “The Imperial Enchanter engaged me in a parlay. She said that when _we_ decided to make Trevelyan Inquisitor, we had essentially declared open season on her. Madame De Fer insinuated that it would be in the Inquisition’s best interest if I _leashed_ her.”

            This time the scandalized look on Josie’s face was genuine, “She _didn’t_! Whatever for? Does she intend to bring the Game here?”

            “That’s just it, Josie! Whether the Game comes here or we go to it, she’s right. Trevelyan is at the head of this and we put her there. Already, her distant kin are making mischief because we would not let them use the Inquisitor’s name to gain special favors. And that’s only in the Free Marches…” she trailed off, eyes focusing on a particular noble in the crowd.

            The nubile Orlesian could not have been any older than twenty five. Dark curls fell over her full, firm bosom which was on prominent display thanks to the plunging neckline of her very expensive dress. While none of that was unusual, the fact that she stood amongst the commoners at the edge of a training yard with no chaperone _was._ “Who is that?”

            Josie followed her line of sight, squinting slightly trying to make out the details of her features.   Her eyes widened, “That’s the Baroness Bellamy! She’s the only child of the late Baron Michele Bellamy. She inherited the title after his death a few years ago but was not presented to Court until this past winter. She is easily the most eligible woman in Val Royeaux.”

            “Then why is she here and not attending soirées and fêtes like all the other bachelorettes?”

            “Her grandmother arranged for a series of luncheons with herself, the Baroness and Inquisitor Trevelyan while they are visiting,” Josie filled her in.

            Leliana blanched at the news. If the most _eligible_ of the young Orlesian nobility were already showing up to Skyhold to hobnob with Trevelyan then the news of her feats were already making their way around the Imperial Court. And if the barony was allowing the most suitable of their young women to overtly pursue a _female_ Free Marcher – then it was apparent to the spymaster that the patricians cared not about the actual Inquisitor but the title and power affixed to her. It made her sick.

            Kihm called for a break, eliciting some noise of disappointment from the crowd, which only worried Leliana when she saw that Trevelyan looked like she was about to drop from exhaustion. Doubled over, hands on her knees and shoulders heaving as she tried to catch her breath, the Inquisitor looked like she was seconds away from keeling over. The Tempest master picked up two sets of blunted blades, offering a pair to Trevelyan.

            “Is he insane, a duel?! She can barely stand up!” Leliana exclaimed, yelling the last part towards the training yard but her objection was lost in the brief roar of approval that came with the promise of a bout.

            Leliana scanned the crowd, hoping someone – _anyone_ \- with half a brain and closer to the action than she, would step in. Blunted blades were just as deadly as sharpened especially at the speed Tempest practitioners could obtain. One miscalculation on either party’s part would be disastrous.  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Cassandra pushing her way through the crowd.

            The Seeker approached Kihm, her features resolute. She couldn’t hear what was being said but by the way the Nevarran was gesticulating, she could only imagine the Seeker was ripping into him. After a few tense moments, in which Kihm began to cower under Cassandra’s verbal assault, Trevelyan stepped in between the two. Another moment passed and Leliana watched Cassandra’s features harden into a mask of angry worry and disapproval. She crossed her arms, fixed Trevelyan with a glare of displeasure before looking up to make eye contact with the spymaster, shaking her head. _Oh no._

            The Seeker had barely made it back to the crowd when Kihm’s cry of “en garde” echoed over the courtyard and the two rogues instantly disappeared into a flurry of strikes, counterstrikes and parries.

            Anxiety began to creep into her chest. There was a reason why most exhibition duels were performed by warriors. Heavy armor, swords and shields slowed the combatants, allowing observers to watch form and technique. Duels between rogues were not popular as a spectator sport for the simple reason, one could barely see the duelists let alone their craft. Most of the time, an onlooker could only listen and wait for the winner to emerge victorious.

            One minute stretched into two. Metal rang against metal. Grunts, growls and labored breathing were the only sounds that could be heard as anticipation built in the crowd.   The rogues twisted and twirled around each other. Flasks broke against bodies, fire and ice shrouding the opponents. Even Josie, who was ever the consummate pacifist, was on the edge of her seat, her hand gripping Leliana’s tightly.

            After another minute, the brawl began to slow and it seemed that despite the uneven odds that Kihm had beset upon her the Inquisitor would emerge the victor, then it happened:

             A shriek resonated over the clash. It was a feminine cry of outrage and shock. Her eyes shot towards the young baroness. The look of indignation directed at two young soldiers on her perfectly made-up face confirmed Leliana’s suspicion that the girl had been groped.

            “Merde!” Josephine and Leliana swore unanimously. Before either of them could move, the deteriorating situation became much worse:

            The baroness had jumped away from the soldiers when the assault had occurred. However, in astonishment at having been treated to such disrespect, the young woman continued to back away from the men and into duel’s domain; terrified unreasonably that they would pursue her despite the fact the troopers were now aware _all_ eyes were on them…including the Inquisitor’s.

            Unfortunately, Kihm had either not heard the commotion or he was too focused on the bout because he capitalized on Trevelyan’s moment of distraction and lunged towards her in a flank attack.

            “ _NO!”_

            It was Leliana’s terrified shout that captured Trev’s attention scant seconds before Kihm’s blunted daggers pierced her in the kidneys. Time seemed to slow:

            Trev pivoted, spinning out of the way, a dagger catching the seam of her armor perfectly, slicing clean through the leather. As the Free Marcher twisted, she caught Kihm by his forearm and using both of their momentums, she curled the master back against her body, so he would not continue past her- saving the young noble’s life.

            There was no sound as the crowd stared with bated breath at the two rogues tangled in an unmoving heap.

            “ _MAKE A HOLE!”_ Cullen commanded.

            Leliana was already on her feet, jumping from the ruined wall and hitting the ground she ran towards Trevelyan. Cassandra beat her to it. Yanking Kihm off of the Inquisitor, the Seeker nearly tossed him aside. Leliana skidded to a stop next to her counterpart.

            “Inquisitor! Can you hear me?” Cassandra asked, not bothering to mask the concern in her voice. She lightly slapped Trevelyan’s face, “Inquisitor!”

            “Is she alright?” Cullen asked, joining them.

            At that moment, Trevelyan opened her eyes and blinked.

            “Inquisitor! Are you well?”

            “Maker… why do you look like Seeker Pentaghast? I thought your face was supposed to be a beauty and wonder to behold…”

            Cullen snorted, Cassandra’s face fell back into its normal look of disapproval but there was a shade of a smile, “Apparently, you’re fine.”

            Trevelyan smiled unsteadily then grimaced, “I wouldn’t say that but I think it would probably be in the best interest of everyone involved if I wasn’t seen bleeding all over the place.”

            It was then that they noticed the blood seeping out from under her and pooling around the Seeker’s knees.

            “Sweet merciful Andraste!” Cullen swore.

            “Call a healer. Commander, give me your coat.” Leliana said quickly.

            He hurried to do as he was bidden. Taking the coat and kneeling at the Inquisitor’s head, Leliana helped her sit up, blocking the injury from the on looking throng.

            “You’ll be alright,” she murmured into Trevelyan’s ear as she laid the coat over her shoulders, “I’ve got you.”

            A tremulous but honest smile, “I never doubted that for a second, Spymaster.”

            The sincerity of the words changed the reason for which her heart was pounding. Suddenly, an unquantifiable rage at the young, brazen baroness brat overtook her. Her foolishness in leaving that which she was accustomed in a ploy to attract the Inquisitor’s attention had nearly gotten both of them killed.

            She watched the baroness closely as she and Cassandra helped Trevelyan to her feet. A hearty cheer went up from the crowd when the Free Marcher signaled she was ‘fine’. The young noble’s face was awash in delight and adulation. Leliana could almost guess at the romantic, chivalrous fantasies playing through her sheltered and entitled mind.

            “Thank the Maker she’s okay,” Josephine breathed, finally catching up to Leliana.

            “She’s not,” the Nightingale growled, eyes not leaving the unaware noble.

            “What? But, she-”

            “She’s hiding her injuries for the sake of the Inquisition. What would happen if people thought that Trevelyan was anything less than the Herald of Andraste? We would be condemned as heretics and for once, all of Thedas would unite in a common cause – to wipe out the Inquisition- and that _strumpet_ was nearly the reason why.”

            The color drained from Josie’s face as she realized that Leliana was close to ordering an end to Bellamy’s short life.

            “Leli, try to calm down. Remember, ‘niceness and not knives’. She is a young and foolish girl. Her head is filled with tales and songs of romance. I do not believe that she would ever willingly put Inquisitor Trevelyan at risk.”

            “Perhaps, but it does not change the fact that her insolence to position nearly handed Corypheus victory,” she paused, making up her mind. “I want an audience with her grandmother.”

            “Leli-” she began.

            “-Make it happen, Josie.”

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> Another update! I hope it meets with your approval. My father and brother are in from N. England and since I will most likely be trying to keep them from drinking the desert dry - I ask for some "patience" the next few days as I entertain kin. *Sighhhhhhhhhhhhh* 
> 
> I have an idea, you keep me motivated by feedback and comments (which will distract me from plans to throttle my blood) and I will do my best to keep the updates coming (not like I had plans to opposite) but if you haven't figured out I simply LOVE hearing from all of you.
> 
> Take Care and Smile - because you don't have to deal with my family. LOL. See? Silver linings.
> 
> Regards,  
> ~Bendithio


	15. An Introduction to the Game

* * *

            There was a very good possibility that it was all about to go horribly wrong.

            She hoped the Inquisitor could be made to see reason. Free Marchers weren’t known for their hedonism. In fact, Orlais and the Marches were moral, gubernatorial and societal opposites. She knew little of Trevelyan’s opinions on Orlesian politics and social norms. The damnable woman was so _good_ at being disarming that it wasn’t until after a conversation was through that one realized the Inquisitor had said virtually nothing of herself, likes or dislikes.

            Of course, she could have easily dug for information and found out everything there was to know about the Marcher, but where was the fun in that? Only now, she wished she had. If she had, then maybe she wouldn’t be worrying her way up the stairs of the Inquisitor’s tower.

            Her meeting with Lady Cochet, the Baroness Bellamy’s grandmother, had revealed more than she had cared to hear:

            As the Inquisition’s reputation and sphere of influence expanded, so too did the Inquisitor’s. Her gentry was well-established, the Family Trevelyan being well respected, very affluent and _large._ The Inquisitor had magnanimous relatives across not only the Free Marches but also Nevarra and Tevinter. These peerages too had taken an interest in the Inquisitor and a sort of rapprochement between the aristocracies pan Thedas had occurred. _Winning_ the Inquisitor was now a matter of national pride, a _‘may the best haut monde win’_ impression.

            Despite how whimsical the old debutante made it seem, the spymaster knew it was much _more_ than that. The courts of the kingdoms were playing for power and that power through control of Trevelyan. Given that the rogue could shut Fade rifts with her hand after tearing through waves of demons and abominations with _knives_ – the only way to control her was through her bed.   Place the right _operative_ there and the operative’s handler (be it rival kingdom or interested party) gains significant access and control to the Inquisitor ergo the Inquisition and that was a devastating potential threat. Who really knew matters of the heart?

            _“Not me,”_ she admitted bitterly.

            Regardless of her own personal feelings on the matter, the risk posed was too great for the spymaster to leave unchecked. The only way to ensure that Trevelyan didn’t get into ‘bed’ with the wrong person and by extension, _player,_ was to put someone there herself. They couldn’t leave a vacuum that could be exploited.

            She just hoped Trev would forgive her if she ever found out.

            ***

            “What are you doing?!”

            Trev looked up from what she had been writing, a look of _‘isn’t it obvious_ ’ on her face before returning to it.

            “Why aren’t you in bed?”

            “Because writing is ever so difficult with a face full of mattress,” she replied evenly.

            “What I meant to say was-” she plucked the quill from Trev’s hand and dropped it in its place, “Why aren’t you resting?”

            “Ah, but there is no rest for the wicked or don’t you remember? Besides, I don’t particularly like being face down. Not to mention, it hurts my neck. I don’t mind pain but I think having my back flayed is enough for one day, don’t you agree?” Her reply more caustic than normal.

            Leliana understood that the poor woman was probably, in spite of the healer’s best efforts, in no small amount of discomfort and that was adding to her acerbity but there was more to it.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “I’m beginning to think that you are the worst spymaster in the history of spymastery.”

            “Espionage. It’s called espionage.”

            “Whatever,” she grumbled. “You keep asking what’s wrong and I would think that would be obvious.”

            “I would like to think that we are friends and as your friend, I know that there is something more,” she said gently.

            Trevelyan regarded her, “Are we friends? The last I remember on the subject we were still at the ‘ _seeing_ ’ stage. Which was slightly muddied by the random ‘ _kissing_ ’ stage. But, now we have achieved friendship. I bet your ciphers are horrifying.”

            “My _ciphers_ have saved many lives,” she said pointedly.

            “And ruined many more, I’m sure."

            “That’s true,” she shrugged.

            Trevelyan looked at her and finally she smirked, “You’re not going to leave are you?”

            “Not until you tell me or I am satisfied that you’re okay. We’ll see how long it takes.”

            They locked gazes. Silence stretched between them. Leliana began singing one of her favorite epic poems in her head. At least she would be entertained for a few hours if Trevelyan proved stubborn. After a few minutes, Trev sighed in frustration, “Fine.”

            She smiled.

            “It’s all these damn letters! I haven’t the first clue what to do with them!”

            “What kinds of letters are they?”

            “Oh, you name it. Really, name it. I’m pretty sure there are things in those letters that shouldn’t even be written down… _ever_. And the worst part is, I recognize some of these names. Some of these people are old enough to be my parents and some of them actually _know_ my parents.”

            Trevelyan stood gingerly. She wore no shirt; a bandage wrapped from her armpits to under her ribs. A wet spot, as wide as a dagger, ran just below her shoulder blades. Leliana’s stomach turned at the mental image of Trevelyan’s skin dangling from her back, lean muscle exposed. She said a prayer of thanks she had missed that. By now, the skin would be closed but the muscles themselves would still be mending.

            Leliana said nothing. She could sense the Free Marcher was desperate to ease some of the weight that she carried. There were times she would catch Trev talking aloud to someone else. She knew it was most likely Eloie. She had done the same for years after the Warden’s death. It wasn’t until years into her service to the Divine that it had stopped. Dorothea had been a confidant, a friend, a mentor. She had filled the spiritual hole the Warden’s death had left behind.

            However, Trevelyan did not have this. She had gone from being another nameless noble, to hated heretic, to icon of hope for all Thedas without breath or break. Her confidant, the other half of her soul in a sense, had died at the same moment the Marcher had been hurled into the Fade and her fate. And now, in the role she was placed she had no one and nowhere, in which she could lay her burden down.

            Trev sighed, “I just don’t know what’s changed. No one has ever responded to me like this before. I feel like I’m surrounded by wolves. Josephine wants me to establish connections and use my influence to gain favors, but, some of these _favors_ …”

            “The Game has come upon you, Inquisitor.”

            “The Game, the _Grand_ Game?” She chuckled, “Really? I am fantasy fodder for a bunch of bored Orlesians… _wonderful_.” She grimaced lowering herself to her bed.

            “I’m afraid it’s far more complicated than that. If it was simply lecherous nobles, then the Game wouldn’t be as dangerous as it is.”

            Trevelyan gave her _that_ look. The one that always left her feeling as though she was looking at something _within_ her instead of at her. She suddenly, absurdly, felt naked.

            “I know you came to check on me. But, correct me if I’m wrong, there is another reason why you’re here, isn’t there?”

            Leliana nodded.

            “And it has something to do with work.”

            Again a nod.

            “I’m beside myself in anticipation. Don’t keep me in suspense,” she panned, curling herself around a pillow trying to ease the ache in her back.

            “As you wish,” she teased, “Do you remember asking me to teach you to be a bard, back in Haven?”

            Trev groaned, trying to pull her legs up unsuccessfully. “Yes. Don’t tell me, you think _now_ is the time for it.”

            “Yes. The ball at the Winter Palace is coming up. You will be the focus of much attention. You have made several enemies by allying with the mages. If that wasn’t enough, you have several more potential threats for other reasons that you might not be aware of,” Leliana continued, helping lift her legs.

            “But I take it you are. My thanks,” Trev said with a sigh of relief, when she situated on her side, chest resting on the pillow.

            “Of course, I am. That’s my job, Trevelyan. I am the eyes, ears and blade you never see. If you knew all of the plots and plans against you, you would never sleep again.”

            “That’s comforting. Thank you, spymaster.”

            Leliana moved behind her and gently began to massage neck and shoulders, careful not to pull to hard and aggravate the mending muscles.   Trev let out a voluptuous, grateful moan that sent shivers straight up the spymaster’s spine. Her mind went promptly to thoughts of how that delicious sonance would feel resonating against her ear as she sank her fingers deep inside the Marcher.

            “It’s my job to keep you safe and I am very good at what I do,” she said playfully.

            “If you’re half as good at guarding me as you are massaging me, then I am in very capable hands.”

            She was glad Trevelyan couldn’t see her blush. Leliana continued her ministrations, content to offer a small relief to the Inquisitor. Besides, she had to admit, she was enjoying the occaissional noises of appreciation the Marcher made. After sometime she heard the Inquisitor mumble something.

            “I’m sorry, what did you say?” she paused.

            “I said, do you really think teaching me the bardic practice will help?”

            “Well, I wouldn’t be teaching you the whole of it. I will be teaching you one discipline. It is important and difficult to learn, but I have faith you can do it,” she said gently, leaning over Trev’s shoulder.

            “What is it?”

            “That’s just it. You won’t know unless you learn it and you can’t learn it if I tell you. Because, then you would know and the whole point of the lesson is to learn it without knowing it.”

            “Can you teach me _that_?”

            She frowned, “Teach you, what?”

            “How to make answer so convoluted that someone will regret ever asking a question in the first place.”

            She laughed, “No, that’s a natural gift.”

            Trevelyan took a deep breath, “Considering you have quite a bit more experience in this sort of thing and I am making it up as I go along half the time, I will defer to your judgment on this. Consider me your willing, though perhaps not currently, able student. When do we begin?”

            “No time like the present,” she said.

            She untied a simple leather strip with a silver charm in the shape of a nightingale from around her wrist and attached to it to Trevelyan’s.

            “What is this for?” she asked.

            “I want you to wear it for a fortnight. Don’t take it off and every time you look at it I want you to think of one thing.”

            “And that is?”

            “This...”

            She grabbed Trevelyan’s shoulder and yanked her onto her back. Leliana caught the anguished cry in her mouth. Tongue soothing its way over her lips, grazing its partner, teeth gently pulling on soft flesh. The cry dissolved into the moan she had wanted to experience. Trev’s hands went to her lower back, pulling her close despite the pain it must have caused her. Leliana pulled away.

            The look of confounded loss on the Inquisitor’s face was adorable. She giggled, “Do you think you can remember that?”

            No answer, just a dopey nod.

            “Good,” she said, placing a quick peck on those inviting lips.

            Leliana moved off of Trev and stood, straightening her clothes. The Marcher gave her a look that was somewhere between perturbed and confused, “That's it? You’re just going to leave?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            Leliana simply winked, turned and left.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Reader,
> 
> I hope your Monday is going well. Mine is...well, we'll see how I feel about today, tomorrow. LoL.
> 
> Anyhow - I hope you enjoy the update.
> 
> Encouragement is ever so WELCOMED at this point...(Haha, ahh...I'm glad I moved so far away from my family.) Take care my friend..
> 
> Bendithio


	16. Of Archdemon & Dragon Slayers

* * *

            Trevelyan was missing.

            No one had heard from her in three days. She had last been seen in the Hinterlands accompanied by Dorian, Sera and Iron Bull. Leliana was not prone to panic but it would be a lie if she said she wasn’t nearly there. The Inquisitor had recovered and left for Crestwood to meet with Hawke and her Warden friend. That had been two weeks ago.

            The first inkling that something might be off was when Cassandra had returned with Alistair.

            Her heart had nearly stopped in her chest when she had seen the Seeker riding through the gates of Skyhold with the Warden. She hadn’t seen nor spoken to him since Elissa had died. For the longest time, she had _blamed_ him, resented _him_. In a way, she still did. Why could he not have taken the blow? Why leave it to Elissa?

            She had ignored him when she approached Cassandra. The Seeker had filled her in on what happened in Crestwood. It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed the look on his face: stricken and desperate to approach her. She just had more important things on her mind like where Trevelyan had gone off to and why she had returned Cassandra and requested Iron Bull.

            None of it made sense.

            The Inquisitor was _rarely_ without the Seeker. There were times that Leliana wondered as to the depth of their relationship. Trevelyan was the sort whom seemed relaxed no matter the situation or company. But, Cassandra? More often than not she saw a familiar affection for the mischievously steadfast rogue in the Seeker’s eyes. The two bantered like an old married couple even in the midst of bloodied battle. She knew because she had the eye witness accounts. One report had read as such:

                        _“Why do you insist on running ahead of me?” Said the Seeker._

_“Because you’re **so slow** ,” Said the Inquisitor._

_“You try running with a shield and tell me how quickly you reach the enemy.”_

_The Seeker stabbed the raider that had stolen my ring in the gut. I couldn’t see where the Inquisitor had gone. She was always disappearing into a puff of smoke. She was stabbing one baddie, one second and slitting the hamstrings of another the next. I ain’t never seen nothing like it._

_“I did,” the Inquisitor drove her knives into the man’s kidneys, “I hated it. Why do you think I wield these?”_

_I swear to the Maker she spun the blades in her hand and then slammed them backwards, impaling a bloke I didn’t even see coming._

_“If you’re not going to let me defend you at least leave **some** for me.” Said the Seeker. _

_The Inquisitor came over to me, **to me** , and helped me up. _

_“Of course, Seeker. Who am I to deny you sloppy seconds?”_

_The Inquisitor smiled at me. She has a nice smile._

            Leliana had stopped reading after that. She hated it when the written statements turned into either love letters or proclamations of undying loyalty to the Inquisitor and the Inquisition. Not that she wasn’t appreciative and grateful for good that was being accomplished – but lately, the adulation and praise were starting to grind on her.   Was Trevelyan flirting her way across Thedas?

            The thought had cost her some sleep.

            She knew it was irrational. Even if the Inquisitor ( _Maker forbid_ ) decided to _sleep_ her way across Thedas, what would it matter? As long as she put a stop to Corypheus, who cared the means, as long as the end was justified? The problem was, she did and that scared her.

            The first rule to the Game? Never, ever get involved. Love, or better yet, lust was blind. It created blind spots that could be exploited even by the most bumbling of enemies. It was single-handedly the most foolish thing a player could do. _Maker, am I faltering so?_

            Leliana stepped out into the brisk evening air. As the hours wore on, her thoughts were becoming more cyclical. She decided to take a walk to the lower courtyard. Most of Skyhold’s residents were either making their way to the Herald’s Rest or turning in for the night. She was content to be alone with her thoughts. Stopping at the sealed well, she sat down on the ancient rocks and looked up at the expansive night sky, remembering a conversation from long ago.

            “It’s good to know that some things will never change. Well, at least until a hole opens up in the sky. That makes it hard to star gaze,” Alistair nervously tried to joke.

            Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. “Hello, Alistair.”

            “Leliana,” he paused, looking for words. “I tried contacting you.”

            “I know,” she said simply.

            “You know? Then- oh, I see. You do blame me for her death.”

            She let the breath out, “I did. For a while, I questioned your manhood.”

            “For a while, so did I,” he said miserably, “Especially when I found out I could have…What did she think? That I wasn’t _up_ for the job? If I had known it would have saved her life, I would have done it. I would have done anything for her. You have to know that Leli.”

            There it was again. That same desperation. The sound of an innocent person with nothing left to lose. And his words, she frowned finally looking at him.

            “What are you talking about?” she demanded, “Found out what?”

            Alistair had aged. Not terribly but she could see the years and the taint were beginning to take their toll. The poor Ferelden looked at her, a hollowness to his gaze.

            “The night before we battled the Archdemon, Morrigan approached Elissa and told her that if she could convince me to impregnate the apostate that night, then when the Archdemon died, it would have attached itself to the unborn child instead of either one of us. Elissa refused.”

            The news brought her whole world to a stop. She felt sick. She felt betrayed. Once again, she felt abandoned. How could she do that? How _dare_ she say no! Elissa had loved her, had she not? If she had, why had she thrown away a chance at _life_ with her?

            “Do you know why?” her voice was barely above a whisper.

            He shook his head, “If I were to guess, I believe that she did it because she didn’t want to use me. She knew how I felt about Morrigan but what she didn’t realize is how I felt about her.”

            The words stabbed deeply into her heart.

            “If there was any way I could have gotten to the demon before she did, I would have killed it Leliana. I swear to the Maker, I would have. I know how she loved you.”

            Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. She refused to let them fall. Not for someone who sacrificed _her_ happiness for Alistair’s and that was what it came down to.

            “She obviously loved you more,” the words felt like acid on her tongue. “Thank you for telling me this, Alistair.”

            She stood, “I’m sorry that I never returned your letters. You have to understand I was under the impression there had been no other way. It appears I was mistaken. Please accept my apology.”

            Alistair opened his mouth to speak but like a ghost of a memory, she was gone.

            ***

            “The Inquisitor returns! She’s killed a dragon!”

            The watchman cried it from the ramparts. The news was instantly taken up and soon onlookers from all over the keep hurried to see what the commotion was for. A team of horses drew a cart that looked as if it was about to collapse under the weight of a massive high dragon’s head. Behind that was Iron Bull, looking as though he had been given the keys to his own kingdom; Sera, looking somewhere between revolted and giddy and Dorian, who was always pretty despite his surroundings (Leliana envied this apparent _magical_ ability). When Trevelyan finally passed under the arch and into Skyhold, the gathered crowd erupted.

            “What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Cassandra asked joining her at the parapet overlooking the lower yard.

            “It seems you are no longer the only dragon slayer in our motley crew,” Leliana said with a smile she didn’t notice she had.

            Cassandra looked down at the wagon, the crowd and the gore beginning to slick the ground. Leliana saw admiration flash through Pentaghast’s eyes. She knew the Marcher had just earned the Seeker’s undying respect.   Which struck Leliana as odd, considering Trevelyan had sent her back.

            “Indeed,” the Seeker said simply, “It looks like I lost.”

            “Lost? What are you talking about?”

            “The Inquisitor and I had an agreement. If she could kill a high dragon without my help, then I would help her kill all the rest she finds. It appears I have to dig out my dragon slaying boots.”

            “You have dragon slaying boots?” Leliana arched a brow.

            “Says the woman with three _trunks_ full of shoes. Don’t judge me, Sister.” Cassandra sniffed, crossing her arms and walking away.

            ***

            It was late by the time the Inquisitor managed to excuse herself from the impromptu feast that had been set up in honor of the dragon slaying and of course, her safe return. She was still stripping out of her armor as Leliana crested the top of the stairs.

            “That’s quite the accomplishment, killing a dragon.”

            “Is it? Funny, that seems mundane compared to getting out of my own gear.” Trevelyan glanced over her shoulder at her. “It’s good to see you again, Spymaster. I’m contemplating ordering you to wear a bell around the keep.”

            “Oh?” She asked as she came up behind Trevelyan, working the troublesome buckle loose.

            “Yes, that way I’m never in the embarrassing situation in which I have to change my small clothes because my spymaster decided to pay me a visit.”

            “I would wear a bell, if you wished. But I do not know if that would ever prevent a situation in which you had to change your small clothes because I _came_.”

            A satisfied smile tugged on the corner of her lips as she watched that delicious blush appear. She resisted the urge to run her tongue over the path it was taking up the back of Trevelyan’s sunned neck. Finally, the buckle came loose.

            “There you go,” she said sweetly.

            “My thanks,” Trev managed with minimal defect to her speech.

            “My _pleasure._ ”

            Trevelyan stepped away from her, pulling the rest of her armor off. Leliana allowed her eyes to drink in the Free Marcher, looking for any sign of injury. Other than needing a bath and possibly burning her undershirt, such were the sweat stains, the rogue was no worse for the wear.

            “If there is something I can do for you, Spymaster, please tell me. Otherwise, I’m insanely tired and sore and was hoping to get into my bath while it was still hot,” she managed a tired smile, glancing towards the small alcove behind her bed.

            “I wanted to know if you still had what I gave you.”

            Trev stared at her unsure of what to think then, not breaking eye contact, pushed her sleeve up revealing the strip of leather. Her eyes went from the makeshift bracelet back to Trevelyan’s, letting a soft, seductive smile play upon her face.

            “Can I see it?” she asked lightly, stepping towards the Inquisitor.

            She gently grasped Trev’s wrist and turned it over. Her fingers drifted over the knot. It was the same one she had tied herself. The Inquisitor had done, at least partially, what she had asked.

            “What did you think about when you looked at it?” she asked carefully.

            Trev’s light colored eyes found hers, flickering back and forth as if she was reading something in her own. Leliana noticed her own pulse had quickened. She prayed that Trev’s answer was the one she hoped for.

            “You,” she finally said.

            She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, closed the distance and kissed her. Slowly, sweetly she nibbled, tugged and soothed her tongue over the Free Marcher’s lips. At first, Trevelyan was stoic, unresponsive to the caress. Leliana brought her hands to either side of the Inquisitor’s face and gently holding on, encouraging a response. Finally her lips parted, a warm invitation that Leliana gladly took pressing herself closer, losing herself in a soft, languid battle of tongues.

            When she gently broke away, she stayed close, leaning her forehead against Trevelyan’s gasping lightly for air, swallowing hard, her hands trembling on the rogues sculpted shoulders.

            “I’m sorry you can’t breathe. I told you I had to bathe,” she joked, breathless herself.

            She let out a light burst of laughter, “What am I going to do with you?”

            “Hopefully nothing good.”

            “That’s the plan,” she purred, running a finger gently over Trevelyan’s chin before placing a quick peck on her lips and stepping back, she deftly untied the leather strip.

            The Inquisitor frowned, “What are you doing?”

            “I’m taking this back.”

            “Why?”

            Leliana didn’t answer. She simply leaned in, placed a chaste kiss on the corner of those heavenly lips, letting her own linger before she winked, turned and left.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> So, here is another update. Things are going well-ish. Hopefully, I will get another update in tomorrow because my birthday is on Thursday and I won't be able to get any writing done - why? Because people will be wanting to make with the merry and I'm just not feeling it. It is another day, another number, another reason why I hate the dogged progression of time. 
> 
> I mean, don't get me wrong. I am aging like a fine wine. Just keep me in a cool, dry, dark place and I do well. :) Haha. Which is funny considering I live in the desert. Still, while I look better now than ever I did - my time spent in the military is making me feel (physically) like I am just this side of 100. Everything hurts. All the time. Why don't they tell you these things when you are younger?!!!! Oh, wait - they did - I just didn't listen. LOL
> 
> Anyhow, now you know why my family is here. HAHA. Can't let a girl age in peace, got to stress her out too. LoL.  
> "Dithio! When are we going to get grand kids?"  
> "When hell freezes over."  
> "Dithio! When are you going to move back to Manchester?"  
> "The day after hell freezes over."  
> "Dithio!...."
> 
> You get the idea. Or maybe you don't, haha...oh, is it Saturday yet?
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the update. I'm sorry I didn't get it up sooner, haha, c'est la vie. Smile, my friend, don't let the world win.
> 
> ~Bendithio


	17. Of Lessons Learned

 

* * *

            The Inquisitor was beating Iron Bull with a stave.

            Trevelyan was swinging with such force, Leliana could hear the wood slicing through the air before it connected with the meat of Bull’s thighs.

            “I’m trying to understand this obsession with sticks you have.”

            “We use the stick to inflict pain, boss. Pain reinforces the message. The message is whatever you want it to be,” Iron Bull grunted, “Again.”

            “Indeed?” _Whap._ “Pain?”

            The Free Marcher hummed thoughtfully for a moment, delaying her blow throwing off Iron Bull’s flow, “You know. There’s other ways to reinforce meaning.”

            “Rea-” _Whap_. “-lly?”

            Trevelyan nodded, falling another blow directly above her last one, making the prior one smart even worse than when she had struck it. Leliana arched an eyebrow. _Interesting._

            Iron Bull laughed, “Maybe I just like you hitting me.”

            Another blow landed just below the first one, aggravating the other two. _Very interesting._

            Trev chuckled, “Do you think there’s any chance Corypheus feels the same way?”

            “No,” Bull gave a pained response, “I think I’m good for today. Give me a minute.”

            Trevelyan stood the stave upright and hung on it as Iron Bull shuffled to a chair and sat down with a relieved sigh.

            “Alright, it’s time to come clean. Why do you want me to teach you this particular training technique?”

            “I’m always open to trying new things, Bull. Can’t I try this too? You obviously benefit from it…somehow…and don’t you think the Inquisitor should be at her peak?” Trevelyan lightly reasoned him.

            “Well, yes, but I could break your legs.”

            “Don’t swing as hard as you normally do. I won’t break, I promise.”

            “If you don’t mind me saying; what is bothering you isn’t fear. You physically walked in the Fade, had to confront the mother of all fear demons to get out,” he chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed by good, ol’ fashioned fucking. If there were any Tamassrans here, I would tell you to go see one of them. They’d _relieve_ you. But since there isn’t, and if you still are open to learning qunari techniques, I humbly offer my services.”

            A flash of irrational jealously streaked through her chest. The low simmer of her anger flared. He was being rather licentious with the Inquisitor. She narrowed her eyes. Hadn’t he admitted that he still reported to the Ben-Hassrath? She made a note to check further into _the_ Iron Bull.

            Trevelyan chuckled, “Such a silver tongue, Bull. Why haven’t we assigned you as an attaché to the Ambassador?”

            “Probably because I would scare all the _nobles_ ,” he smiled.

            “You? _Nah_ ,” Trev bantered. “Now are we going to do this or what?”

            “What’s the rush? Something wrong?”

            “Wrong? Nothing. It’s just sometimes I get the feeling that spymaster is going to show up and-”

            “-And, what?” Leliana asked, stepping from behind the pillar.

            “Ruin all the fun,” Trev finished with a sigh.

            Bull just gaped at the spymaster, “Wow. Neat trick.”

            Leliana’s smile was deadly, “I try. Would you excuse us, please?”

            “Uh, yeah, sure. See ya’ later, boss.” He said and was gone, moving surprisingly fast for someone who had just had their legs caned.

            She turned her attention back to Trevelyan who was still leaning on the stave, though her expression was less jovial.

            “Dare I ask how long you have been standing there, Spymaster?”

            Leliana pinned the Inquisitor with her gaze, “Long enough.”

            “Should I begin with...this isn’t what it looks like?”

            “It looks like you were about ready to have a large qunari cane you,” she said, hands going to her hips. “Am I wrong?”

            Trevelyan’s head bobbed back and forth, “I could see where one might take it like that.”

            “ _Take it_? You were seconds away from letting it happen.”

            “In my defense, it’s a qunari training exercise and you are the one always going on about my training. Am I to take it that my _training_ has to be approved by you?” The Inquisitor’s tone was playful but the challenge was not.

            _Posion sucr_ _é_ _? Very interesting, indeed._

            “No, your Eminence, just the ones that have potential to break your legs. After all, a crippled Inquisitor would be a poor figurehead." She replied demurely lowering her eyes, easing away from the surreptitious challenge.

            It would do no good for Trevelyan to consciously feel controlled.

            After a moment, the Marcher sighed, “I’m sorry, Leliana. I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately what with Adamant and jaunting through the Fade…”

            She trailed off, her eyes waundering to the ceiling in a quest for words, “I’m sorry about your friend, Alistair. He told me about the Blight and the Hero of Ferelden.”

            If the banished Warden hadn’t died in the Fade, she would have killed him herself. _Ce fils de pute!_

            “And I hate the fact that I couldn’t save the Divine and I’m sorry her words were confusing instead of comforting,” she finished with a breath.

            Her heart hammered in her chest. Trevelyan’s words were spoken with a depth of sincerity that was rare in her experience. It was a sincerity that came with familiarity and _affection_. While at least part of her lesson involved teaching the Marcher to focus – affection and attachment were _not_ the effect she was going for.

            Still, why did the thought having Trev’s affections scare her to the point of excitement? She quickly dismissed the line of questioning. It wasn’t going to do her any good. She didn’t feel ready to find out where it would lead. Instead, she focused on Trevelyan.

            There was tension to her shoulders. Her hands alternately gripped and released the stave; knuckles going white, then flushing with blood as the pressure was released. Normally astute, clever eyes now seemed a bit wild.

            “Do not trouble yourself over these things, your Worship. I know _you._ If you say there was nothing you could do, there was nothing you could do. You must learn to forgive yourself, the way you forgive others. And as for what Justinia said to you- even impossible questions are answered in their own time.”

            She had covered the distance between herself and the Inquisitor and stood an arm’s reach away. Her eyes landed on the slight rise and fall of Trev’s pulse in her neck. She decided to test the waters.

            “We can discuss these things later,” she continued, “Right now, I would like to discuss you.”

            “Me? I’m flattered, also an expert on the subject. What specifically about _me_ are _we_ discussing?”

            She said nothing, only let her eyes flick over to the stave before returning her gaze to Trevelyan, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

            An innocent enough question, but if a person had something to be nervous about, it was impossible for them to control their autonomic responses. Trevelyan’s face remained in its natural state of almost passively bemused but the even cadence under the deliciously inviting, delicately soft skin of her neck suddenly ratcheted up in tempo.

            “Tell you, Spymaster? If I have to tell you things, then what am I paying you for?” Her smile was as smooth as the tenor of her voice.

            “If I told you all that you _pay_ me for, I would have to kill you,” she deadpanned, eyes flicking back up to the Inquisitor’s.

            “Please, still my _heart_ and tell me it would be slow, painful and by your talented hand.”

            She held the emphasis a beat longer than normal. She knew then that Trevelyan was aware of her scrutiny.

            “Is that what you would want?” she asked evenly.

            “At this moment, why not?”

            “Then I would deny you of it.”

            “But of course you would,” Trev smiled, jaw tight.

            “Do you know why?” She asked, moving incrementally closer.

            “Because you tortured small animals when you were a child?” Trev offered, cringing slowly as she did.

            Leliana gave her a disapproving look, “No.”

            “Then I am completely out of ideas as to why you insist of torturing _me_.”

            “You would know if I was torturing you,” she said and then leaned close, her breath tickling that delicate ear, “Correct me, if I’m wrong but it is my conjecture that you would enjoy it, Trevelyan.”

            She beat down the torrent of pleasure that erupted low in belly when she saw the Free Marcher’s skin prickle delectably at her words. A small smile of victory tugged at the corner of her lips.

            Trev cleared her throat delicately, “While I won’t lie and say I’m appalled at your words, the torture I reference is more the mental kind. That, I’m not so _thrilled_ by.”

            At her words, the skin that had tingled with pleasure mere moments before reverted to its normal appearance. She had spoken a truth for herself.

            Leliana slowly straightened, “That’s your trouble Trevelyan. That’s the chink in your armor. Since you do not play head games, you assume everyone else doesn't either.  They do. You trust too easily.”

            “And you don’t trust enough, if at all.” She held Leliana with the look that unnerved her, “Are you going to tell me that your way is better, Spymaster?”

            “No,” she said quietly, “Not better, _safer_.”

            “Safe? Indeed, Spymaster. You are so safe, you’re sequestered. Nothing touches you.”

            The Inquisitor leaned in exactly as Leliana had done. Lips close, breath tickling sensitive flesh. She could smell Trevelyan’s skin. It was a heady aroma, like the cooling air moments before a summer storm, “Would you let _me_?”

            Her eyes rolled involuntarily backward at the words. She cursed all of heaven and Thedas as her skin pebbled at the low, throaty delivery. It was all Leliana could do to not take the woman down and ravish her in any way the spymaster’s heart desired. She took a breath to collect herself.

            “If I trusted you,” she replied honestly.

            The Inquisitor leaned back, a slight sadness to her smile, “And there’s our impasse.”

            Leliana felt pang of loss as Trevelyan retreated back to _acceptable_ distance.

            “Honesty, spymaster. It goes a long way towards trust. I understand that we must meet our enemies on their level but we are more than our enemies. So, here is what I am willing to give. I will learn any and all _lessons_ you feel like teaching.” She smiled impishly, “ _No_ questions asked.”

            “ _But?_ ” she asked.

            Trev’s eyebrows shot up, “But? Why does there have to be a ‘ _but’_?”

            Leliana rolled her eyes in frustration. “Because you said, ‘ _Here’s what I’m willing to give’_ , it only follows you expect a return.”

            “Do I? I don’t recall saying anything to imply such a thing.”

            She opened her mouth for a rebuttal but faltered. Her eyes found the Marcher’s playful ones. Realization formed _slowly_ around the actual implication of her words because the next moment, Trevelyan’s lips were upon hers.

            Her kiss steady, inviting, teasing but gentle even when she tugged sensually on her bottom lip with her teeth. She lost herself in a haze of sweet, slow sensation. Remembering how _nice_ it felt to let someone have control for a moment.

            And suddenly, the moment and those lips were gone. She opened her eyes. Trevelyan gave her a devastatingly charming smile and then with a wink, she turned and left.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I have always loved giving more so than receiving (but I do love receiving). So, I skipped the festivities (haha, yes, it's possible with my family) and worked on an update. Hahaha. Want to hear something funny? My father, forgot it was my birthday until about thirty minutes ago - it's nearly 6 pm right now. Lmao!!)
> 
> And now you know why I don't overly miss them.
> 
> Ah, well, here you go... enjoy, dear reader. ;)
> 
> ~ Bendithio


	18. The Best Laid Plans

* * *

            Leliana hummed distractedly as she laid her trap.

            It wasn’t a deadly one. The worst that could happen would be a glancing blow to Trevelyan’s pride. Hopefully, it would be enough to teach her to not run off to Val Royeaux with Josephine as her _only_ backup and meet with an imposter Comte. _How foolish could she be?_

            Leliana had held her tongue with Josie. Josie was _excellent_ at her job and she was indispensable dealing with the aristocracies. However, Josie had always been far too soft and sweet to actually _play_ the Game. More than once, before they had become friends, Leliana had saved the wide-eyed Antivan from bards that were infinitely more talented and capable of killing their compatriots. Her blundering into an assassin’s contract, as ancient as it was, was just Josie’s luck.

            The Inquisitor, _however_ , should have known better! What was she thinking walking into an unknown estate, to meet with someone neither of them had met? She had been beside herself with frustration when Josie had informed her of what happened. Her frustration had evolved to anger when she learned that instead of _killing_ the assassin who had detained and posed as the Comte, Trevelyan let him go!

            On top of all of that, instead of quickly and quietly destroying the contract at the House of Repose, Josephine had convinced Trevelyan of her convoluted plan to elevate the Du Paraquettes. The whole mess had given her a headache, which had given her an idea.   If the Inquisitor was so foolish as to trust someone, sight unseen and be a guest at a table in which the food or drink could be poisoned, Leliana would show her the error of her ways.

            There was a knock on her door. Opening it she saw Trev, early as usual, looking almost pensive. She frowned, “Is there something wrong?”

            “Wrong?” Trevelyan’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s nothing _wrong_. I just…” she narrowed her eyes, “didn’t expect you to invite me to your quarters… _ever_.”

            “And now I have and you’re still standing outside, instead of coming in.” She pointed out, angling her body as an invitation to enter. Trevelyan didn’t move. “I won’t bite.”

            A smirk tugged at the corner of Trev’s mouth, “No? Well, now I _really_ don’t want to come in.”

            Leliana let out a noise of frustration, grabbed the Inquisitor by the russet material draped dapperly around her neck and pulled her bodily inside, shutting the door.

            “Must you be impossible with everything?” She asked without accusation.

            “Not _everything_ , besides, I'm starting to believe it’s just you, Spymaster. You bring out the worst in me.” She replied, smoothing her clothes unconsciously. Her keen eyes darted around her modestly but tastefully appointed quarters and nodded approvingly, “I’m impressed. I had envisioned shackles, possibly a rack. At the very least, I figured there would be hot coals. But, it appears I was wrong...”

            “Much to your bitter disappointment, I’m sure.”

            “You have _no_ idea,” she murmured with a salacious camber of a brow.

            Leliana rolled her eyes and gestured to a small table, “Have a seat, your _Worship_.”

            Trevelyan looked over in the direction she indicated and laughed in disbelief, “Is that food?”

            “It _is_ dinner time,” she pointed out picking up a bottle of wine, “According to Cassandra, she has to remind you to eat half the time. I figured, we could talk while we dined.”

            “I’m not sure I like that idea,” Trev replied.

            “Why?”

            “Because the fare smells _amazing_ and work is not so amazing. I’m fairly sure that you don’t want the bragging rights of _‘Inquisitor Trevelyan threw up on my floor’_. In fact, _I’m_ sure I don’t want you having that experience. Who knows _what_ you would do with something like that?”

            She laughed, offering Trev a glass of wine, “I promise we won’t talk about work.”

            ***

            A rare flower called the Hag’s Slipper grew in the south of Ferelden. It was a hideous thing that looked like it could only botanically be called a _flower_. Mostly found near the marshes and swamps of the Fallow Mire and the Korcari Wilds, it had a pungent aroma. When dried, it could be ground up and mixed in with food or drink. The effects varied depending on the amount consumed. A pleasurable but powerful headiness, in small amounts. In moderate measure, one lost the cognitive ability required to deceive. Anything beyond that could induce hallucinations and even death.

            She silently tried to figure out when to cut Trev off. By her best approximation, the Marcher should have been feeling the effects by now. Leliana was two glasses in. The Inquisitor (after some persistence) three. And while she had worked for years to develop a tolerance to the drug, Leliana was starting to feel the effects. However, if Trevelyan _was_ , it was becoming hard to tell. _Damn wine._

            Leliana had asked every question she could think of to find any skeletons in the Inquisitor’s closet. She had asked about her family and had gotten tale after tale of mishap, shenanigans and hijinks and while entertaining, it was mundane.

            She had then changed tactics and asked her thoughts about the Maker and the Chantry after her walk in the Fade. The Inquisitor managed to keep her mischief down to a minimum as she answered. Her replies were automatic and perfectly tailored to someone who had come from a devout family and been raised to respect the Chantry.   She couldn’t tell if Trevelyan simply didn’t believe but maintained a respectable decorum as befitting one of her place. Or, if she really did _feel_ that way. The Inquisitor was quick to tell the story of the time when she and Eloie had rendered up a dramatic albeit raunchy rendering of the Canticle of Exaltations.

            Which was Leliana’s opportunity to segue into her last line of questioning because, Maker help her, she was running out of wine and running out of time to get the Inquisitor to cop to _something_. How was she supposed to get her point across, if Trevelyan didn’t crack? Another thought occurred to her; what if there was really _nothing_ to find out? What if the Inquisitor was really that squeaky clean? Leliana narrowed her eyes. _No, that’s not possible._

            “What?” Trevelyan’s question cut into her thoughts. She giggled, “Why are you staring at me like that?”

            “It’s nothing,” she shook her head lightly to clear it, “It must be the wine.”

            “Yeaah, it’s rather strong. Where did you say it was from?”

            “I didn’t,” she said, honestly. _Damn it!_

            Trevelyan laughed, “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

            “No.” _Merde! Hold it together, Nightingale._

            For the briefest of moments, she could have sworn she saw a triumphant twinkle in Trevelyan’s eyes. She smiled and tilted her glass towards her, “At least you’re _honest_ about it.”     _Damn. You. Trevelyan._

            “When did you know?” She forced her face to remain impassive.

            “First sip. Eloie could be a _real_ brat. She discovered it during her lessons one day in our pubescence. It only took me five strappings, three groundings, two complete reciting’s of the Canticle of Benedictions and one whole summer mucking out the stables, of which we have seven, _every_ day to figure out what Hag’s Slipper tastes like.”

            Leliana’s hand flew to try and hide the snort of laughter that escaped, “Could you put that into a time frame for me?”

            “Now, Spymaster that isn’t fair to ask but she discovered it at age thirteen. It wasn’t until three years later when Eloie departed for the Ostwick Circle that I found her journal, the recipe and boundless, meticulous, mirthful entries about her tests and the results. Which just happened to involve me and my food, at family dinners.” Trevelyan’s smile faltered.

            “You miss her.”

            The Inquisitor contemplated her glass, “Her, yes. Being drugged, no.”

            For the first time in a long time, guilt touched her.

            “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

            She caught her with that unnerving look. Leliana wanted to crawl into her own skin but then Trev flashed that roguish grin, “I believe you.”

            And just like that Trevelyan had forgiven her, trust firmly in place, keeping her word. Leliana tried to give her a disapproving look to cover up her relief and other swirling emotions.

            “Don’t you take anything seriously? I just drugged you and all you can do is make jokes? What if the fake Repose Comte had poisoned you? Would you still be making jokes?”

            “Only if he wore that mask again,” she snickered, “I am the offended party, Spymaster, how are you chastising me?”

            “Because, I worry about you!” she blurted out, hating herself for it.

            “You worry about me?” Trevelyan’s face sobered, “Why?”

            “Maker’s breath! _Now?N_ ow you decide to take things seriously. By all that is in heaven and earth…” she muttered, rubbing her temples.  Another possible side effect? A throbbing, dull headache.

            “Yes, _now_ , because it’s only been since _now_ that you’ve ever said anything like that to me. I was under the impression I was a delightful distraction.”

            “Delightful is one of many words I could use, but it is not the _first_ one I would choose and so help me Trevelyan, if you ask _which_ word I _would_ choose I will list _all_ of them.  Rest assured there are some on that list that you probably _don’t_ want to hear,” she bluffed.

            A playful smile returned to the Marcher’s features, “Fair enough.”

            In that moment, she realized that Trevelyan was either a savant when it came to learning how to verbally maneuver around a handicap (which was an impressive feat even by bardic standards) or there was something more to the Inquisitor’s history than she realized.

            “I thank you for the food, Spymaster. It was delicious and the company was _delightful_ but I must take my leave,” she said, standing, “Don’t worry. There’s only one door, I can see myself out.”

            Moving past her seat, she gracefully leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek, “It was a most _intriguing_ evening, Leli.”

            Her mouth nearly fell open, even as the door closed behind the rogue.

            ***    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Reader,
> 
> I am having a pretty good day. My family left. It's grand! So, here is what appears to be random banter and fluff. It isn't just for that reason. I have method to my madness. Haha.
> 
> Hope all is well and the world has at least attempted to be kind. If not, let me know... I will write a strongly worded letter for you...:)
> 
> Cheers,  
> Bendithio


	19. An Intrigue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning (not for this chapter but the next) -
> 
> I promised that I would give you, dear reader, a heads up when it was going to get...er... uncomfortable for some. Here is your warning - Trev has a history...and it isn't pretty. So, if you have triggers or if there are things that are NOT OKAY for you. I encourage you to take into consideration NOT reading the next chapter. I promise, I won't throw anything in there that is key to holding the plot together - but I can not NOT put this in because I feel there has to be some comprehension to Trev's story.
> 
> So, if abuse in any form is an issue, PLEASE, be good to yourself FIRST! And trust, that I am concerned for everyone's well being, but I will not let those who choose not to read, miss out. 
> 
> I guess what I'm asking is: Please don't read if there are things that trouble you in your past. Please know that you aren't alone but for the sake of plot and story - I'm going there. Consider and be good to yourself, for you are very loved. And I will make sure to wrangle it back into not 'triggering' in a chapter or two.
> 
> However, with that said: it starts here...
> 
> Enjoy - or don't -  
> Bendithio

 

* * *

            She normally detested the hike to top of Skyhold tower. Tonight, though, she didn’t even noticed the seemingly endless flight of stairs, her mind was elsewhere.

_Sister Nightingale,_

_I was surprised and am grateful with your unexpected aid in the Kirkwall matter. I have been looking for the apostate Anders for some time now and of course, he would still be there. I also wish to thank you for your advice and will write to your ambassador post haste._

_You wish to know the specifics of the Intrigue? Are you sure there is nothing more? Very well._

            The Prince of Starkhaven’s words kept circling through her mind.

            _Where your Grand Game is played with bards and curious young nobility, the Intrigue is played with the progeny of the minor nobility. While there is no actual **mandate** , it is considered proper for each house to send one of their children to the Atrium when they reach the age of 16. Once there, they gain an endorsement and spend four years as a neophyte in service to their benefactor. Of course, the young adult receives a full education in music, civics, philosophy, etiquette and martial training. While Orlais openly embraces the Game. It is called an Intrigue in the Free Marches because if subterfuge is done well, as **you** know, it should be a wonder as to if it even occurred at all._

_To this end, propriety is put on a pedestal and the most successful neophytes are its keepers. How the neophyte’s education and training evolve is entirely up to the patron. There is no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to educate the whelp and I’ve heard of every **varied** way it is accomplished. I should not have to tell you that some sponsors can be **heavy** handed._

            She could only image what he meant by _heavy_. Vael was given to under exaggeration rather than over and that knowledge troubled her. Marjolaine had been a demanding but alluring taskmaster. She shivered as memories of her _lessons_ at the bard master’s nefariously talented hands flashed through her mind. Although she could never say that Marjolaine had been heavy handed, she had rewarded as generously as she had _disciplined_.

            _I suspect the reason you ask has something to do with your Inquisitor Trevelyan. As a show of good faith for any future interactions, I took the liberty of digging into her past._

            It would be a lie to say that the line hadn’t made her want to kiss both of Sebastian’s cheeks, at first, but then she had continued reading.

            _Lady Trevelyan’s twin sister, Eloie, had been the one unofficially declared to the Atrium. The older of the two showed much more potential than her sister, who was referred to as “that damned whelp of Bann Trevelyan”. It seems the younger of the two was a bit of a delinquent. When her sister departed for the circle in Ostwick, the task fell to Evelyn._

_As you probably have guessed, there are no records for her time at the Atrium. One source recalled that it had taken nearly three months for Trevelyan to be taken on as a neophyte. The average time for the process is approximately a week._

_Here, Sister, is where it gets muddied:_

_Evelyn’s contract was taken up by the Grand Tourney champion, Mylan Tartrish. As you might have guessed, it is unusual for a warrior and Grand Champion to involve themselves in political pawning. However, Grand Champion Tartish served Viscount Ravi of Kaiten for a handful of years before his death. While the rulers of the city-states don’t overtly have Atrium neophytes, it is unspoken knowledge that they do and usually the tyro is kept by a handler. There is very good reason to believe that Tartish was Trevelyan’s handler._

_Champion Tartish wasn’t known for a kind disposition. A warrior, a warlord, a taskmaster and considered one of the fiercest, bloodiest Grand Tourney competitors in memorable history. There is only speculation as to **how** the Champion transformed Evelyn Trevelyan from an erstwhile, bullheaded, troublemaking pubescent into Lady Trevelyan; cultured, dignified and charming Bann-apparent to the House Trevelyan. To be sure, though, it was not done with a gentle touch._

            Leliana forced the letter from her mind as she arrived at the Inquisitor’s door. She almost felt foolish for not looking further into Trevelyan’s history. The letter from Sebastian had awakened her to possibilities that she had not entertained before. If nothing else, she should have known better than to assume anything about the Inquisitor. Didn’t she know better? She pushed down the thought that she might be developing a blind spot for the Free Marcher. Determined to get the entire story, she knocked.

            After a moment the door opened and, much to her surprise, Scout Harding stood before her.

            “Sister Nightingale,” she greeted her with a slight nod of her head, “What are you doing here?”

            She successfully prevented her mouth from falling open with surprise but failed to avoid the dart of jealousy that shot through her chest, “Scout Harding…is the Inquisitor in?”

            “She is,” the dwarf replied slowly.

            Leliana had to hand it to Harding, if there was any agent that would no copulate to the spymaster, it was her. Hence, why she trusted the dwarf. It was also the reason why she did not trust her.

            “Is she available?” she asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

            Harding looked at her for a moment and then nodded again, “She is. Come in.”

            The dwarf stepped back and Leliana stepped in.

            “Lace! Who is it?” She heard the Inquisitor call from above.

            “The Spymaster,” Harding called back, their familiarity was apparent.

            She heard the Inquisitor sigh heavily, “Does she have her bow?”

            “No.”

            “Let her in then…”

            Harding’s grin was brilliant, “After you, Sister.”

            Leliana looked between the top of the stairs and the scout, then started up. She was half way there when she realized that Scout Harding had left. Continuing, she rounded the banister at the top and stopped.

            Trevelyan stood, nearly stark naked aside from her small clothes fussing with the formal uniform that Josie had decided on for the ball at the Winter Palace. The Free Marcher looked up and flashed a smile, “Spymaster. I’m nearly naked. I was waiting for you to show up…”

            For the first time in years, Leliana blushed and fought it, “Is that what you expect?”

            Trevelyan laughed, “I don’t know, Spymaster, you tell me. You’ve walked in on me bathing. You’ve walked in on me half naked and recovering. Now, you have walked in on me in my skivvies trying on the most ridiculous of outfits. Does anyone really wear red and gold anymore? And since when did we decide _these_ were the Inquisition’s colors?”

            “Josie chose them.”

            “That figures.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?” She asked narrowing her eyes as Trevelyan straightened the collar of her uniform.

            Trev laughed, “Nothing. I just see where we got _gold_ in this patchwork. Personally, I would have gone with black trimming and silver accents.”

            “Unfortunately, we want you for things other than your personal aesthetic sensibilities,” she replied and saw a cringe pass over Trevelyan’s face.

            “I am aware,” she replied. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t ask my preference of colors for the monkey suit I have to wear.”

            “I’ll let Josephine know…”

            “Don’t bother. She works much too hard anyway. Let’s not overburden her with the petty, shall we?” Trev replied with a smile. “So, what do I owe this visit to?”

            “I came to talk.”

            “Oh? And what about?” Trev replied, picking up the coat of her uniform and holding it out in front of herself, examining it.

            “Champion Tartish.”

            Trevelyan’s muscles went rigid. She froze in place. Her jaw tightening, eyes fixed, “What about him?”

            “I want you to tell me about him.”

            Trevelyan slowly set the coat down. Her gaze distant, a coldness she had never seen before. The Inquisitor did not look at her, “Any particular reason why?”

            Suddenly, she did not feel so sure of herself or her plan.

            “I know about the Intrigues,” she pushed forward, she couldn’t go back.

            “Do you?”

            Leliana nodded.

            “Do you know the whole of it?”

            “No, but…please, tell me.”

            She could see the Inquisitor struggling internally, finally Evelyn sighed, “As you wish.”

            The Free Marcher stepped back from her bed and turned so that her right leg was in clear sight, Leliana suppressed her gasp. From hip to ankle, an intricate weave of scar tissue was cut and carved into her flesh, a mosaic of elaborate Free Marcher knots.

            Trev’s smile was half-hearted, “Let’s begin with ‘Master Tartish had a thing for knives’…”

            ***


	20. A Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - Haha - Read the warning from last time... yes? Are we good? Okay...
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than normal, mainly because I'm breaking up what would have been one long chapter into smaller chapters that way I can elicit all sorts of wonderful reactions in you... at least, that's what I'm going for. If I elicit nothing from you but your discontent - I will know I am doing something wrong. Is fair? Is fair.
> 
> Enjoy -  
> Bendithio

* * *

            “Master Tartish had a knife collection the likes of which you have probably never seen,” Trevelyan began, shrugging a laced collar shirt on over her head.

            _You haven’t seen mine_ , Leliana mused.

            “He had fifty-three and a half knives.”

            “I’m sorry, did you say ‘ _and a half_ ’?”

            “That I did. Apparently, it was broken off in the skull of a giant. He was rather _proud_ of his half knife… _all_ of his knives, come to think of it.” She frowned at a memory then shook her head to clear it. Looking at Leliana, she took a deep breath, “Would you like to see how talented he was with them?”

            _No!_ She howled inwardly, even as she nodded slowly.

            She could have sworn she saw a look of relief flash through Trevelyan’s eyes but as quickly as she had seen it, it disappeared. The Inquisitor gestured to the settee sitting in front of the fireplace, “Have a seat.”

            “I hadn’t been in the care of Master Tartish a whole day when he took me into his _counseling_ chamber. It was a cramped, circular stone room in the cellar. There was a bed, a table, another table with restraints, shackles in the center: two on the floor, two on the ceiling. The floor was depressed towards a grated drain in the center of the room, directly under the shackles,” Trev recounted the memory clinically.

            Leliana’s chest tightened as she spoke. She watched as the Free Marcher’s eyes unfocused a little. She knew the look, Trev was detaching.

            “Master Tartish didn’t say much, of course, he never said much. All he said to me that day was that I would learn my place. He shackled me, stripped me naked and started his _lessons_ using the first of his fifty-three and a half knives.”

            Trev moved so that the firelight caught the scar in light and shadow, giving it a strangely beautiful, more raised, appearance. She caught herself before she reached out. Part of her entranced by the jagged, swirling magnificence of it, the greater part of her horrified and sick at the idea of punishment without cause. She glanced up. Trev’s eyes upon her, that _look_ to them.

            “You can touch it. I promise, there is no pain,” she said gently.

            There was a slight tremor to her fingers as she reached out. The smoothness of the tortured flesh was unexpected. Thick in some places, barely the width of a blade in others. She traced over the elaborate knot work lightly. She watched as the unmarred skin of Trevelyan’s leg pebbled at the caress.

            “I screamed when he started,” she continued, “the more I screamed, the more he cut. The louder I screamed, the _deeper_ he cut. I have no idea how long that first night _actually_ was. It only ended after I had passed out.”

            Leliana drew her hand back. Her heart aching for the younger Trevelyan. Marjolaine had been terrible in her punishments, but even _she_ hadn’t mutilated her nor tortured her for no reason.

            “He was depraved,” she murmured, her lip twisting in hate for a dead man.

            Trevelyan looked down at her with a cold bemused smile, “You have _no_ idea.”

            She stepped away, taking her trousers from the back of the sofa and pulling them on. Leliana was relieved but strangely disappointed at the loss of skin. Finally dressed, Trevelyan dropped down next to her, stretching out a bit as she continued:

            “Any infraction, any misbehavior, any word _spoken_ out of line resulted in one of his creative punishments. And let me tell you Spymaster, he was _inspired_. You mentioned how Cassandra told you she has to _remind_ me to eat?” Trev laughed bitterly, “That’s an actual thing.”

            “What do you mean?” she frowned.   She had a pretty good idea what the Inquisitor meant and if it _was_ what she thought, it meant that Trevelyan had been so _thoroughly_ broken, the effects still lingered.

            “It means that I’ve asked Cassandra to _remind_ me to eat. I suppose I could have asked her to _order_ me to eat…but how would that _look_? Master Tartish determined when I ate and when I did not. I’m still working on that _knot_ ,” she grinned at her own poor joke.

            “I see…Trev, did he ever…?” she asked quietly.

            “Did he ever what?” She repeated before a look of realization lit upon her, “Rape me? No. He _satisfied_ himself _while_ he carved pretty little designs into my leg, if that answers your question.”

            She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. The idea that a young Evelyn might have experienced the horror that she had lived through had stricken her beyond reason for a moment even though the mental picture the Inquisitor’s words painted was just as revolting.

            “Oh.” She looked at the Inquisitor, trying to judge her level of discomfort but she could see in Trev’s eyes that she was completely disconnected from the conversation, the words, the memory. The Inquisitor had become an observer to her own history. A very impressive feat.

            Leliana cantered back and forth in her own mind. There were things she wanted to know but unless she revealed her own past, it would seem like she was digging simply to dig. Perhaps, that was her original intent but now…now looking at the woman who willingly stepped back into her own personal hell for her, she no longer wanted that, she wanted more. She wanted an actual connection with Trevelyan.

            “I know something of taskmasters and I too was _trained_. But, Marjolaine balanced pleasure and pain. She was precise. Never too much of one or the other. It doesn’t…what I mean to say is…how-?”

            “You mean, how was I rewarded?” Trev mercifully saved her.

            She nodded, “Yes, exactly.”

            A slow, sated, wolfish grin ambled its way over Trevelyan’s face, “Ophelia.”

            “Ophelia? Is there more to it? What did she teach you?” Leliana nearly demanded when the Free Marcher didn’t expand past the name.

            The grin widened, “Why do you want to know?”

            “Oh, merciful Maker, why do I bother with you?!”

            “That is a _good_ question…almost as good as mine. Humor me, Spymaster…I’ll tell you about Ophelia if _you_ tell me why you worry about me. Deal?”

            “Why didn’t you just press me for information that night? Why wait until now? The situation was clearly in your favor and there is nothing preventing me from lying now,” Leliana asked, curious.

            Trevelyan cambered an eyebrow, “Must I really answer this question? Trust, spymaster, you have my trust. I trust you will answer me honestly and I will not force anything from you. The word _is_ in your vocabulary, correct?”

            Leliana pulled up the corner of her lip in a playful, disapproving look. “Yes, _Inquisitor_ it is. I’m simply not used to dealing with people of your…caliber.”

            “Is that your way of calling me naïve?” Trevelyan’s eyes danced mischievously.

            She huffed, swatting good-naturedly at her.

           Deftly, Trev caught her hand, brought it gently to her lips and kissed her palm. It was the softest of touches, tongue delicately smoothing her skin but a torrent of arousal washed through her. Trevelyan's smoldering gaze held hers as she slowly lowered and returned Leliana’s hand. 

            She prayed Trev hadn't noticed the hitch in her breathing.

            “That’s one thing she taught me...maybe I should start with, ‘Ophelia had a thing for pleasure…’”

            ***


	21. A Mistress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friend.
> 
> I apologize! This update came later than I had planned. I also apologize for the brevity in which the update is given. Haha. I apparently have contracted some sort of late spring virus. I feel like I have been run over, repeatedly. So, if this 'chapter' isn't up to 'par' with other chapters - mea culpa. Not for nothing, it's really hard to write when all your body wants to do is crawl into an early grave. Haha.
> 
> With that said - we're on to the Winter Palace in the next Chapter (where things will start to pick up between the Spymaster and her Inquisitor) - I just had to get Leliana to somehow relate to Trev. Haha. Can't just have them falling into bed together with no sort of form or function in their interactions. Haha. Anyhow - 
> 
> Without further ado - here is this - and I am off to find a rock in which to crawl under and die. 
> 
> Enjoy - be safe - smile,  
> Bendithio

* * *

            “After my first night with Master Tartish, I woke up to my wound bandaged and my body cleansed. Whoever had done so had been meticulous, talented with their craft. I could barely feel it. I had no idea who had done it and so, I went about Master Tartish’s grueling martial training regime,” she took a deep breath. “That night, I ended up in the counseling chamber, of course. Again I screamed, again he cut, again I passed out. The next morning, both the fresh and old wound were cleaned and bandaged. And so it went, every day.”

            Leliana furrowed her brow. She couldn’t imagine the mental and physical anguish Trevelyan had experienced. She herself had gone to Marjolaine’s side at sixteen. Marjolaine had been a seductress, a temptress, a terrible master but she had not actually _punished_ her until she had been under her tutelage for a few years.  Not to mention, Marjolaine had taken great care to preserve Leliana’s beauty, until she betrayed her, that is.

            “Nearly three months passed that way. For mistakes in training, I lost eating privileges, I was caned, forced to stand in the sun holding his shield above my head for hours as my hands cooked against the metal,” Trev grinned mirthlessly, “Do you have any idea how hard it is _not_ to make a mistake when you spent half the night being carved on? Even so, I began to fail in every task and finally one day, I didn’t get out of bed.”

            “Oh no,” she said softly.

            Firelight reflected and danced across the Free Marcher’s eyes, giving them an eerie glow, “That’s what I thought too. Maker! I must have laid there for hours, unable to move because I was so weak, terrified of his eventual arrival. By the time I heard my door open, I almost welcomed the thought of the beating I would receive. I figured with any luck, he would just beat me to death and that would be it.”

            Trev paused, lost in the memory and then smiled gently.

            “Imagine my surprise when the touch I received was not a heavy gauntleted hand but the softest of caresses over my shoulder. I felt a warm, supple body press against my back. She smelled like lilacs in the woods…” she softly trailed off, crossing her arms and laying her forefinger across her chin in quite rumination.

            She almost felt like a voyeur. As if she had stumbled upon a very private moment between two lovers such was the depth of fondness in Trevelyan’s eyes.

            “It was the first warmth. The first _human_ contact I had in months. She was go gentle. So kind…do you know what I did?” Trev glanced over to her, Leliana shook her head. “I started _bawling!_ Just sobbing…it was _so_ embarrassing,” she groaned.

            Leliana looked at her in disbelief, “Embarrassed? Why in heaven’s name would you be embarrassed, I think it a very _natural_ reaction…”

            Trev smiled mischievously, “That may well be, but you have no idea how _stunning_ she was! Dark hair, pale skin, green eyes, lips that made you want to beg,” Trev groaned deeply, “And those legs!”

            Leliana swatted her again, “Get on with the story!”

            The Free Marcher laughed, eyes dancing, “As you say, Spymaster…When I finally stopped crying, she told me her name and that she had been the one who had been attending to my wounds. She told me what I needed to do in order to stay some of Tartish’s wrath. ‘ _He hates screaming,’_ she told me. ‘ _Don’t scream_.’ I nearly bit through my tongue the next day trying to heed her advice. She was right, though, it ended relatively quickly…well, _quicker_. When Tartish was done, he left and Ophelia entered. She helped me down, cleaned me up, bandaged my leg and brought me food and…”

            “And-?” she prompted, a bit too quickly.

            Trev caught the eagerness to the question, a bemused twinkle in her eye, “and we _talked_...don’t look so disappointed, Spymaster.”

            “You did more than talk,” Leliana grumbled.

            “Not the first day nor the second. In fact, she was more than proper for several months. Nothing more than a cherished companion who brought a little light into an otherwise dismal existence, but then the day came in which _no_ sound came from my mouth while Tartish cut. I hung there silently as his knife passed over the anterior and back of my knee. Digging into the tender spots.  When he had finished, he actually called Ophelia in and said: ‘ _She’s yours_.’”

            “That night, she made love to me for the first time. She was gentle. All soft caresses and sweetly spoken words of encouragement. She took my hands, showed me how to touch her. She was as bold as warrior and yet, tender like a maiden. She took me to heights of pleasure that I couldn’t even conceive of. She exhausted me! When I thought I could take no more, she had one more trick up her sleeve. I only realized her purpose later...”

            Leliana kept quiet. Visions of a broken Trevelyan being revived by the hands of a talented, gentle seductress creating all sorts of responses in her own body. She noticed a faint blush creeping up the Inquisitor’s neck. She cleared her throat gently and continued:

            “I was on my stomach. Her fingers deep inside of me.  Driving me, pushing me, wringing pleasure from my body like one would water from a cloth.  As I started to climax, she dug _hard_ into the back of my knee. The pain. The pleasure! It was exquisite. It was terrible,” she finally looked at Leliana “It changed my life.  From that night on, Ophelia was tasked with my education...music, art, politics, _seduction._   Tartish’s began to curb his _bloody_ lessons. Instead of every night, it became every other night and then once a week... Eventually, he stopped.”

            “Why?” Leliana asked.

            “Because Ophelia killed him.”

            “She _what?_ ”

            “You heard me," Trev replied with a sigh. "But that is another story for another night... Is your curiosity satisfied, Spymaster?"

            “For now,” Leliana nodded, despite her disappointment at Trevelyan’s reticent ending of her tale. She stood, “I’ve taken up enough of your time Inquisitor. I should be going.”

            She could feel Trevelyan’s eyes on her back as she walked towards the stairs. Part of her wanted to turn around and...

            “Spymaster?”

            She stopped in her tracks, “Yes?”

            “Perhaps you will do me the honor of telling me _your_ story someday?” she asked quietly.

            It was then she _heard_ it. A vulnerability.  A chink in the otherwise impervious armor of the Inquisitor. The greater part of her was thrilled to have _at last_ discovered it! She knew how to control Trevelyan. Much to her surprise though, another part of her, one that she hadn’t acknowledged since before the Warden died, begged her to leave it alone! Pleaded a case for compassion, demanded that she lay her weapons down.

            She struggled.

                   She cantered.

                           Finally...

                                She acquiesced.

            “Someday,” she promised, quietly. “Sleep well, mon ami.”

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright - so quick question or...poll?
> 
> It was brought up about me taking a shot at writing Leli's 'history' - is that something people want to hear?
> 
> Feel free to chime in - and if there is enough of a demand ... I'll consider it ;)


	22. Of Advisors & Assassinations

* * *

            Her body hummed with excitement.

            Old memories mixed with the moment, creating an almost electric thrum through her veins.  It was everywhere! Deception, manipulation, negotiations, seduction… throw in the possibility of regicide and the night seemed alive!  Leliana couldn’t help the mood she was in! 

            She had missed the Game.  She had missed the recompenses of sport.  Of course, part of her detested it, but she couldn’t deny that the life and death, reign and ruin, war or peace ramifications were almost erotogenic in nature. And, it was not an exaggeration to say, that the Game being set that evening was for all of Thedas and Trevelyan was playing it _marvelously_.

            As was her style, the Inquisitor had arrived at the palace and promptly began to charm, converse and flirt her way through the party.  With an easy, amiable smile that somehow always managed to look like a mischievous smirk; she bedazzled the barony, was demure with dukes, coquettish with countesses and all around gentile with the gentry.

            It was impressive. 

            So impressive, in fact, that Trevelyan had garnered the attention of Morrigan.

            Leliana couldn’t help the tightness to her jaw whenever she thought about the apostate.  The only reason why she hadn’t killed the _witch_ was because she wasn’t suicidal.  The apostate was powerful, clever and apparently adept at playing the Game.  She wondered how much of the last ten years Morrigan had spent shapeshifted into animal form, learning the intricacies of the Court unbeknownst to the aristocracy.

            The two begrudging respected each other, or better put, respected each other’s talents but since she had learned of the offer that the Warden had rejected…she didn’t know what to think.  Especially _now_ that Thedas was once again threatened- how very _convenient_ that she would show up.  It hadn’t escaped her notice.  Just as it hadn’t escaped her notice that Morrigan had entered the ballroom seconds  _before_ the Inquisitor and scarcely before the third bell.

            Leliana had warned Trevelyan about her.  She just hoped the Free Marcher hadn’t been taken in by one of Morrigan’s many _charms_.  She was very curious to know what they had talked about.  In fact, if there weren’t a litany of reasons as to why chasing down the Inquisitor, pulling her aside and interrogating her was a bad plan- she would have done so already.  Instead of making her way towards the spymaster when she had entered, Trevelyan had gone the opposite way, stepping out onto a balcony to speak with Gaspard.  That had been several minutes ago and she was starting to get worried.

            “Lady Nightingale, what a wonderful pleasure to see you at court.  It has been far _too_ long.”

            “Lady Mantillon, you are looking splendid as always.”

            Leliana inclined her head towards the older woman, though not moving to show anymore deferment. The Dowager had never really had any power or influence over her.  She had left Orlais before the former Lady Mantillon had died, allowing her daughter to assume her place on the Council of Herald’s.

            “I find I am most impressed with your Inquisitor, Nightingale.  It is so rare for a foreigner to have such an understanding of the Grand Game.  Tell me this is _your_ doing.  Has the apprentice finally donned the mantel of her mistress?”

            Leliana wanted to cut out the woman’s tongue in payment for her words, instead, she smiled demurely.

            “Come now, we both know that a lady must _never_ reveal her secrets.  Where would the _mystique_ be?” she squinted playfully with the words; a warning hidden in the levity of the look.

            “Oh, I simply must know!” she gushed.  “For you see, your Inquisitor has asked me for a dance and I could _never_ turn down such a chivalrous request, especially from such a _roguishly_ charming Ostwickian.”

            “Far be it from you to do _that_ ,” she smiled.   _When I get my hands on Trevelyan-_

            “What fun! I knew you would understand,” the Dowager replied, ending the one conversation before the other, “It was superb to see you again, Lady Nightingale.  Enjoy the rest of the ball, won’t you?”

             “Vous aussi," she returned and watched Lady Mantillon sashay away, looking ridiculous in her choice of footwear.

              _Plum and gray... so very two seasons ago_ , she shook her head at the shoe solecism. She was so busy having her proclivity for podiatry assailed that she didn’t notice the Inquisitor had returned until she heard, “Spymaster?”

            Leliana looked up quickly, only to find Trevelyan staring at her hesitantly.

            “What?”

            “You’re not going to talk about _someone_ _else’s_ shoes are you?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

            Leliana crossed her arms in mock displeasure, “Not if my discriminating taste is lost on you, no.”

            “Thank the Maker,” she breathed letting her shoulders relax. 

            Leliana rolled her eyes.

            “So I found out a few more things that I think might interest you…” Trev lowered her voice, so that the spymaster had to lean closer.

            “Oh?”

            “Yes, but I can’t tell you here,” she kept lowering her voice towards a whisper.

            Leliana furrowed her brow, “Why not?”

            “Because that advisor you mentioned, Morrigan? She offed a Tevinter spy and found a key.  I think it opens up the servants’ quarters.  I’m taking Cassandra and the others to investigate.  I need you to run interference in case anyone comes looking, okay?” she was whispering now, forcing Leliana to lean her head in close.

            “Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you can’t tell me what you found out…”

            “Because it is a lot of information.  Very damning stuff.  Could shake empires and all that.  It would take far too long.  I have it written down.”

            “ _What?  Where?_   Why would you _write_ it down?!” she demanded.

            “On my arm, because I would forget,” she answered the questions in order.

            “ _Your ar-!”_

            “Ssh!” Trev pressed a finger to the spymaster’s lips, “Do you want people to hear?! Don’t worry, Spymaster, it is written in an _unbreakable_ code.  So, if something _untoward_ happens to me, make sure your agents cut off my arm.”

            “That is the plan in case you die anyway,” Leliana informed her.

            “Really?” Trevelyan straightened, the spymaster pulled her back.

            “Give me the  _cipher_ Inquisitor."

            “Very well.  Take the last two letters of the word off.  Then take the new last letter of the word, move it to the front and _et voila_ the word is revealed.”

            “ _Are you serious?_ A child’s _game_ is your encryption?!” she hissed in disbelief.

            The Marcher leaned back a little to look at her, an insulted expression on her face. 

            “It’s so simple its genius!  Admit it, Spymaster, you wish you thought of it first,” she winked.  It was then she saw a playful twinkle in the Inquisitor’s eyes, “Here.  I found this lying around in _plane_ sight.”

            Leliana looked down at a seemingly blank folded piece of parchment in Trev's hand.  The Inquisitor had indeed written it down, but had used an invention of Dagna’s.  The arcanist had developed an ink that dried invisible and could only be revealed by a specially planed lens inserted into a uniquely crafted lantern that only the spymaster had access to.  It had made her messaging network impervious to infiltration and interception.

            She looked back up.  Trevelyan was barely keeping her composure, the corner of her mouth jerking almost spastically trying to maintain the regal setting of her jaw.  Her heart beat a tick faster, she forced herself to slow it.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to punch or kiss her.

            _Where did that come from?!_   Before she could even take a second look at the thought, the Inquisitor was gone, leaving her with the parchment and a mess of personal confusion.

            “Given the look on your face, if I had to guess as to what just occurred, I would say that your Inquisitor has tenured either her resignation or yours.  With your history, songstress, isn’t that usually one in the same for you when it comes to heroes?”

            “Morrigan. I was wondering when you were going to show up,” barely veiled vitriol flooding her words.

            “And I, you.  Yet, here we are and we can only try and fathom together what twisted fate keeps binding us together?”

            “I am not bound to you, witch.”

            “Indeed it would seem the opposite is true.  For truly, what are the chances that we now work towards the same goal, if not by the same path.”

            Leliana narrowed her eyes, “Do we?  If I recall correctly you led Cousland, Alistair, Wynne-“she stopped and corrected when she realized she was listing the dead.  “All of us to believe that you had the same noble intentions during the Blight.  Only, come to find out, that when you couldn’t convince Cousland of whatever scheme you had in mind, you left.  So, are your intentions the same?  Are they same as the Inquisition’s or the same as _last_ time?”

            Morrigan regarded her with her ever impassive golden gaze. “Do not blame me for what _Cousland-_ ” she ticked a brow upward, “decided to do with an offer that would have saved her life.  Was I not the one who offered it?  If I had not, the end would have been the same.”

            “She probably said no because of the potential destruction _you_ would have caused.”

            “Hardly.  But now we’ll never know because the Warden lies dead.  By her own choice and therefore her own hand.  Do not assume that simply because I am an apostate by your shambled Chantry’s groundless judgment, I am out to destroy the world.  If I wanted that I would simply let this Elder One have his way.”

            Leliana said nothing, regarding her with cool suspicion.  It was true that if Corypheus succeeded, there would be nowhere safe from his influence.  And… it was also true that the Warden had undeniably chosen her own fate regardless of what Leliana had wanted.  She hadn’t even brought it up to her. 

            Taking a deep breath she pressed her lips together in thought, “Perhaps we do share the same goal.  However, tenuous the definition.”

            A slow, pleased smile spread across Morrigan’s ageless features, “You always were the clever one, songstress.”

            “Don’t push your luck,” she vaulted a brow.

            Morrigan’s smile broadened, “You haven’t changed a bit, bard.”

            “Likewise,” she replied dryly.

            “What if I told you, Nightingale, that there is another song being sung in the Court this eve?”

            This caught her attention, “What kind of song?”

            “A dirge.”

            Her heart picked up in pace, “For who?”

            “Your Inquisitor, of course.”

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear reader.
> 
> I'm feeling better. Which is good! Thank you for all the well wishes. It definitely helped, my thanks! However, I found my brain has decided that a vacation was in order, packed its bags, left a bowl of water for me and a note that said:..... well, I don't know what it said because my brain had left.
> 
> So, I have decided to do the only logical thing a person in my situation can do... book a hotel suite with a jetted tub (which yes, is only ten minutes down the road) and spend the night someplace that isn't my house. Maybe my brain will come back whilst I soak in the tub... probably not..
> 
> Haha...mini vacation from my ever so stressful life of writing and gaming. ... okay, okay, ... I really only wanted to soak in a fantastic tub and stretch out on a huge bed and play games on their television and not mine...I know - I'm weird. Don't judge. You get decent fiction, right?
> 
> Anyhow - as a side note - I'm working out how I'm going to work Leli's story into the ...story.... it is not such a difficult thing, I just have to spin it around in my brain for a bit...hahaha...hence jetted tub.
> 
> Okay - I'm done rambling. It's late and I'm getting a little slap happy. Wow, I hope this chapter makes sense when I wake up in the morning...hahahaha 
> 
> G'night AO3 (Or G'Mornin' - whichever it is where you are at.) 
> 
> Slàinte,  
> ~Bendithio


	23. A Throne

* * *

            It was of absolute no surprise that Trevelyan was also a talented terpsichorean.

            Leliana watched intently as the Inquisitor and the Grand Duchess exhibited flawless footwork across the ballroom floor. So graceful the display, everyone else had evacuated to allow the couple room for flourish. However, her focus was on Florianne.

            Something felt terribly _off_.

            She had only met the Grand Duchess a hand full of times. While never exceptional, the Grand Duchess had never seemed ambitious either. Yet, tonight, Leliana could almost smell the arrogant self-confidence and disdain radiating from the sister of the once heir apparent. Florianne seemed _smug._   

            Her conversation with Briala began to replay through her mind. As the dance continued, her fear for the Inquisitor increased:

            _“It’s a quiet evening,” Leliana said in greeting._

_Briala glanced sideways at her, her keen eyes softening a bit as she did, “Does that tempt you to sing, Nightingale?”_

_“Silence is golden. All the better to hear the footsteps of your enemy. I suppose I could return the question to you,” she replied, sitting down on the baluster facing towards the door, watching for would be eavesdroppers._

_Briala huffed a laugh, “I always have a song in my heart, falon, but the real question is: for whom?”_

_“I see you met the Inquisitor,” Leliana seemingly changed the topic, but both women knew the conversation had not._

_“That I did. She is quiet charming, isn’t she? Down to earth, earnest, level-headed…even attractive,” she looked over at her, “I heard she is without consort…is this true?”_

_It was only because of years of practice within the Game that the dart of jealousy the words created didn’t unset the impassivity of her expression, “It ‘tis.”_

_Briala held her gaze for a beat longer before curling the corner of her mouth pleasantly and returning to the expansive panorama before her, “Interesting…considering you and I both know the hazards associated with the **burdens** of leadership. The wrong person could **relieve** her.”_

_The spymaster fought down the urge to push the elf off of the balcony as Briala continued: “You need not worry about your Inquisitor, Nightingale. The song I sing tonight is not for her. However, perhaps, in the future she and I can compose a duet.”_

_Now, she was just goading her, “You would have to speak to her about that.”_

_“In time, perhaps. It depends on how the evening turns out, Sister.”_

_“And how would you like it to end?”_

_Briala’s smile was sardonic, “It doesn’t matter to me, Nightingale. Long ago, Celene drove a knife into my back with the help of **Lady** Mantillon. Stole the throne with the blood of my parents. I would not shed a tear if the favor was returned and her blood paid for the price of power. However, I could not say if cutting off the head of the serpent would not bring forth two more either.”_

_She had heard the stories of Celene’s betrayal of Briala. Most were merely rumors, but the elven spymaster would have no reason to lie about such a horror. Leliana’s heart went out to her. Briala had taught Celene the Game and she had been repaid by murder most foul from the one who had sworn her love. She could relate._

_“I understand,” she said quietly._

_“I suspected you would,” Briala let the words hang, “Although, I feel as though I should have faith in your Inquisitor Trevelyan. She has more than her share of the Dread Wolf within her. Whatever she plans to do, I believe, will be for the best.”_

            Leliana frowned, she wished she could have as much faith as Briala did in the Inquisitor.

As the coda swelled towards the finale, Trevelyan caught her eye. The Marcher lightly winked, a flash of a smirk flying across her features, before she tightened her grip and dipped the duchess deeply; a step that was _not_ in the dance. The onlookers gasped in delight and applauded appropriately as the couple promenaded off of the floor.

            “Leli! Did you see that?” Josephine gushed coming up to her. She sighed, “You could almost feel the passion…”

            “If by passion, you mean murderous intent then – yes, I could feel _it_. Come on, we have to find out what was discussed,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off of the retreating form of the Grand Duchess.

            ***

            Something was horribly _wrong._

            Florianne had returned to the ballroom after an unexpected absence before the third and final bell had tolled calling the Court's attention. The Empress was readying to give the evening’s royal address and Trevelyan was _nowhere_ to be found.  She signaled her lead agent to find the Inquisitor as she moved closer towards Cullen’s location.

            _Maker, I swear, if she is dead. I will let the blood of Orlais and then I will come for you…_ She swore in a prayer she didn’t realize she was saying.

            Her answer came in the form of the Inquisitor barreling through a servant’s door and skidding to a halt, her armor still wet with blood. Cullen beat her to Trevelyan. The Inquisitor leveled her gaze at the Empress as she spoke quickly and quietly to the Commander. He nodded, gesturing to the color guard captain as he did. She could see the calculation, the intent, the fight being readied in Trev’s eyes – she had to reach her!

            And she did, barely.

            “Inquisitor,” she said, laying hold of her forearm and pulling her off to the side.

            Trevelyan focused on her, although distracted, “What, Leli?”

            Leliana opened her mouth to say something but when she caught the honest concern in Trev’s eyes and the way she spoke her name…she forgot everything. Trevelyan looked at her quizzically, then glanced back towards Celene. Without a word, Trev placed a kiss on Leliana’s forehead and gently moved her aside; dead set on reaching the Empress.  Trev kept her eyes on her target, moving like a hunter through the crowd.  Celene called forth Florianne to speak, the Marcher drew her daggers off of her back, picking up her pace readying to strike.

            Leliana watched in horror as Florianne took up an assassin’s stance behind the Empress. Trevelyan kept her pace. In one instant, she realized the Free Marcher’s intent. There would be regicide. She had taken Leliana’s advice. Celene would die. Her stomach dropped as the dagger came clean through the body of the Empress. She watched as ‘royal’ blood washed the floor.

            “Florianne! Stop!” Trev ordered as she rounded the corner.

            Florianne laughed, the world exploded!

            Inquisition soldiers, ordered to protect the aristocracy, appeared and at the same time died, confronting the Grand Duchess’ harlequins.

            “Cullen!!!” The Inquisitor howled in rage and agony as she ran towards Florianne. Her cry an order to the Commander to do _better,_ even as she raced towards her own potential demise.  

            A harlequin appeared in front of her. Leliana dropped to her heels, pulling a dagger as she spun away, sweeping the legs of the assassin; dragging her knife across the woman’s throat, she moved her weight to her toes and shot forward, desperate to get to the Inquisitor.

            It was too late!

             Harlequins slammed the gates shut as Trev dove off the balcony.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ I hope you are having a good day, friend. ~
> 
> Enjoy -  
> ~Bendithio


	24. A Moment

 

* * *

            The night air was filled with the Nightingales’ song.

            She listened to the soft warbling, whistles and clicks as the birds called to their mates from the trees of the courtyard.  Not for the first time, Leliana wondered how her moniker could strike such _fear_ when her namesake was so small and delicate a creature. 

            Sitting down on a curved bench, next to the ornate landscaping, she took in the beauty of the midnight garden.  The moon flowers were fully bloomed in the silver light of the full moon, the lilies had opened their delicate petals and the cherry trees smelled amazing as the first of the buds had already appeared on their branches.  She had desperately missed the gardens of Val Royeaux.   They had always been a place of peace for her, a place where she could sit with her thoughts.

            And her thoughts that evening were heavy.  Who knew what was in store for the empire now that Celene had been deposed, Gaspard had the throne but Briala had the power.  She couldn’t remember a historical precedence for the situation and not for the first time that night, she wondered what the Inquisitor had been thinking.  What was worse, she found her thoughts returning over and over to Trevelyan:

            How she had watched as the Free Marcher had squared off against the Grand Duchess.  She’d listened as Trevelyan, disadvantaged by Florianne’s bow, hurled insult after insult at the Grand Duchess as she dodged arrows.  Using her words to goad the royal into making a mistake and when she did – the Inquisitor had struck her down with a ferocity that Leliana hadn’t ever seen in the otherwise even tempered woman.  She had found the rare display of animalism in an otherwise peaceful soul strangely alluring.

            She hadn’t had the chance to talk to Trevelyan afterwards.  The Inquisistor and Briala had spent the remainder of the evening together, talking quietly with each other.  Leliana had noticed the grateful, serene smile on the elven spymaster’s face.  She had also noticed something in Trevelyan’s eyes when she had spoken with Briala but it was a look that Leliana couldn’t interpret.

            When the ball had ended, the Skyhold delegation had returned to the estate Josephine had procured as an embassy for the Inquisition, however, Trevelyan was not amongst their number.  Leliana had sent her spies to find the erstwhile Inquisitor.  Neither had returned yet.  She was starting to worry.

            The sound of a gate latch caught her attention.  She moved quickly into the shadows, hand on the hilt of her dagger and coiled in wait.  A silhouette moved slowly through the shades of the garden.  She waited until the interloper came closer before sliding behind the trespasser, dagger to their throat.

            “Move and I kill you,” she said quietly.

            “And if I don’t, do you still promise to use your blade?”

            She huffed and pulled her weapon back, “Would you quit sneaking in?  You’re the Inquisitor for Maker’s sake!  Use the front door.”

            “And miss the feel of your steel against my neck?  Never,” Trev joked, laughing lightly then grimaced.

            “What’s wrong?” Leliana asked, her concern overriding her annoyance at Trevelyan’s cheekiness.

            “Wrong?  Whatever do you mean?” she bluffed, trying to straighten. 

            It was then she noticed that Trev was holding her left side carefully.   Her eyes flicked from the Inquisitor’s side to the pain etching her features despite the Free Marcher’s best attempt at humor.

            “What happened?”

            “Happened? Nothing.  A group of would be thieves and I had a disagreement,” she smiled.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me spymaster, I’ve had a _long_ night.  I’ll see you in the morning, yes?”

            “No.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “I said: no.  I’m coming with you,” her eyes went back to the Inquisitor’s side.  

            “Spymaster, I’m perf…” Trev began but caught the look in her eyes and sighed, “…Lead the way.”

            ***

            It was a flesh wound.

            Trev stood patiently as Leliana washed and dressed the long gash across the oblique of her left side, “I told you I was fine…”

            “Hush,” Leliana ordered as she finished smoothing out the healing poultice and securing a bandage to it. 

            Trev looked down at her, “Did you just _hush_ me?”

            “Yes.  What of it?” she challenged.

            A slow smile crept over Trev’s face, “Nothing...”

            Leliana playfully slapped the Inquisitor’s hip as she straightened, “Don’t get used to it.”

            “The _hushing_ or you putting me back together?”  Trev asked, taking the shirt Leliana offered her.

            She said nothing, simply washed her hands and turned to Trevelyan, “Why Briala?”

            “Why not?”

            “You can’t trust her.  She has played the Game for many years.”

            “The same could be said about you, Spymaster.  And perhaps, that is the very reason why I did what I did.”

            “What do you mean?”

            Trevelyan sighed, “I mean…if Celene could _betray_ someone that she supposedly loved, why would I trust her to have _our_ best interests at heart?  I see something of _you_ in Briala…. I don’t know.  It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

            “Why?”

            She looked at her and frowned. “I don’t know...”

            Leliana stepped closer to the Inquisitor, “Do you _really_ know what a _player_ in the Game is capable of?”

            Trev said nothing, just pulling her head back a bit, “No…I-”

            Leliana grabbed her by both sides of the face and pulled her closer.  Her eyes darting back and forth between Trevelyan’s before she kissed her.  She felt the moan against her lips as the Inquisitor’s hands found themselves around her waist pulling, yet pushing her away at the same time.  She lost herself for a moment in the kiss - the light, almost hesitant play of Trev’s lips over hers. 

            She took a step then another, towards the bed, bringing Trevelyan with her.  One hand ripping the shirt from Trev’s grasp and tossing it away.  The other starting to work on the buckles of her trousers. 

            “Leli-” she said, breaking away.

            “Shut up,” she whispered against her lips, before diving back in for another kiss.             

            That was all that was needed.  She growled into the kiss.  The Inquisitor working quickly to get as much of the spymaster’s clothing off before the back of her legs hit the bed and she fell, pulling Leliana with her. She caught the look in Trev’s eyes as her weight settled against the Free Marcher.  Love, affection, desire – it was too much – she ducked her head and bit down on Trevelyan's throat, losing herself in the smell and feel of skin and need.

            “Leli!” Trev’s tone broke her from the haze.  She looked up into blue eyes swirling with love and concern.

            “What?” she asked.

            The look on the Inquisitor's face softened, “Come here.”

            Confused, she suddenly felt very self-conscious and instead of trying to find a response, she crawled up the length of the Inquisitor’s body and curled herself into the open spot Trev made with her arm, laying her head gently in the pocket of Trevelyan’s shoulder.  She felt the Inquisitor’s arm wrap around her shoulders.

            “Not that I’m not appreciative,” she murmured, placing a light kiss to the top of her head.  “But, let it be this way for _tonight._ ”

            Any response she had was lost in the tenderness of the words.  She nodded imperceptibly and buried her face against the warm, softly rising chest…

            And for a moment, as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep… she was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear Reader,
> 
> I know! All these short updates are going somewhere - I promise! Haha... You want an epic romance, yes? Then have faith... Epic romances aren't easy... in life or fiction. They take work and patience... or so I'm told ;)
> 
> I hope all is well with you, gentle reader... smile, it's the best way to tell the world to go f**k itself. :)
> 
> Until we meet again,
> 
> ~Bendithio


	25. That Which is Seen...

 

* * *

            She hadn’t spoken to Trevelyan since the night in Val Royeaux.

            It wasn’t as though the Inquisitor hadn’t tried. More than once, she had seen the Free Marcher coming up the stairs of the rookery. However, Leliana always managed to disappear before she made it to the top. Mercifully, after a week or so, they had received reports of Venatori in the Hissing Wastes and she had left with Cassandra, Dorian and Vivienne to investigate and eliminate the threat.

            Leliana, however, found herself even more _confused_ in Trevelyan’s absence. She found herself taking more and more walks throughout the day. Waiting for the Inquisitor’s usually humorous action reports from the field. While she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself or anyone else for that matter, the daily missives were something of a source of comfort for the spymaster.

            After a few days, however, the reports that came in were written by Cassandra. Her blunt, concise wording boring compared to the colorful accounts given by the Inquisitor. She had been tempted to write and ask if everything was alright but decided against it, figuring that the Right Hand would figure out what the Left Hand was doing if she did…

            … _What am I doing?_

            “-And Briala has revealed the names of her agents that she placed with in the Inquisition _finally_. It only took the Inquisitor writing and telling her to…I believe her words were… _‘Be nice, Briala.’_ ” Josie said. She shook her head, “I have to give Trevelyan credit. She certainly knows how to handle a spymaster.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?” Leliana asked, before kicking herself mentally for the knee jerk reaction to the words.

            Josephine looked at her, eyes narrowing before setting her quill back in its well and leaning forward on her elbows, “It means that _Trevelyan_ has a way with Ambassador Briala… but… that isn’t why you asked that question. Is there something you want to talk about?”

            “No.”

            “ _Leli_ …” she intoned, in a way that only she could.

            “ _Josie…_ ” she mimicked the tone.

            Josephine looked at her for a minute and stood, “I may not be as good as you are in the Game, Leli. But I _know_ you. You’re hiding something.”

            “Of course, I’m hiding _something_. That’s my job, is it not?”

            Josephine gave her a chastising look, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

            “It’s nothing Josie,” she said in exasperation.

            “It’s not nothing. You’ve been acting strange since we returned from Val Royeaux. Is because of the Revered Mother?”

            Leliana laughed sardonically, “No. The Chantry tossing mine and Cassandra’s name for Divine is just their way of trying to look busy.”

            “Then what is it?” Josie pressed.

            “I told you it is _nothing_ ,” she replied, turning towards the door.

            “Okay. I’ll be sure to tell the Inquisitor that she is _nothing._ ”

            The spymaster stopped dead in her tracks, shoulders tensing. She slowly turned around to see Josephine’s cambered eyebrow and a look of victory on her face, “I thought so.”

            “What do you know?” Leliana pressed. If there were rumors starting, she would stop them.

            A small, playful smile spread across the Antivan's face, “I? I know nothing. Except for the way you _look_ at Trevelyan when you think no one is looking.”

            “And how’s that?” she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest.

            “Like you want to jump on top of that _exquisite_ physique and claim it for your own. Or, at least, that’s how _I_ look at her…” Josie replied, prodding Leliana’s territorial instincts.

            “Then perhaps you are projecting,” she deflected easily despite the swell of emotion in her chest.

            Josephine’s eyes danced, “Doubtful. Although, I would gladly be mistaken because this means I can pursue all the _wicked_ dreams I have about her and make them a reality. I don’t think it would take much. I’ve seen the _tension_ in her body, lately. I’ve also noticed an increase in her training regime and a decrease in her appetite.”

            “Really? I didn’t know you kept such a close eye on Trevelyan.”

            “I do. Who do you think reminds her to eat when she is here?”

            She was unable to duck _that_ jab of emotion, “She told you about that?”

            Josie keeled her head briefly left and right as if trying to determine how much she should say, “Not extensively, no. She just asked if I would make sure that I remind her at least once a day. I don’t suppose you have an explanation for it?”

            “You know that even if I did, it wouldn’t be my place to tell you.”

            “That is true,” Josephine agreed. “And I won’t push the matter since it is obvious that you are, indeed, privy to the information.”

            Leliana took a deep breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “Do you have a point to your prattling, mon ami?”

            “No. No… I figured I would make conversation… tell you about my own _observations_ ,” Josie replied returning to her seat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Leli. I have a mountain of paperwork to get back to.”

            Leliana looked at Josephine and the satisfied smile on her lovely face, she shook her head slowly and left.

            ***

            The renovations that the Inquisitor had approved on the garden were finally complete. There had been some division over whether or not to turn it into a peaceful retreat for the faithful or turn it into a functional display of natural beauty. Trevelyan had decided the latter.

            She walked the stone paths that twisted through the oasis of green her thoughts jumbled into a mess. Emotions conflicting with logic. Feelings warring against common sense. ‘ _What ifs_ ’ battling it out with ‘ _what is’_. So entrenched was she in her own cogitations that she didn’t see the young man perching under a stone arch until she nearly tripped over him.

            “Thoughts spinning, swirling, can’t get them to hold still. The lonely songstress of the night, still struggling to find her voice… There is hope but hope is….what is hope?”

            Leliana’s brow furrowed, “Cole?”

            She noticed an amulet dangling from his neck. She remembered the Inquisitor ordering the search for it:

            “ _If it will make him feel better, find it,_ ” She had said evenly when the advisors had objected to the use of resources, leaving no room for argument.

            “She loves one and misses the other… or is it both? Are they one in the same? There are no answers. All she hears is silence and so she answers with the like... Where is her song?”

            She said nothing, hearing her thoughts spoke aloud from the mouth of a stranger. It was jarring. It was disturbing. It was…true.

            “He’s an interesting creature,” Morrigan spoke from behind her.

            She turned in acknowledgment but when she returned her gaze to the arch, Cole was gone.

            “He is as lost as you are,” Morrigan continued, coming up beside her.

            “I’m not _lost_.”

            “Aren’t you songstress?” She looked about the grounds of the garden, “This isn’t your usual _abode_. It is far too _bright_ and _lovely_. Something that hasn’t been associated with you for _years_.”

            “You’re no rose in the Maker’s garden,” she retorted.

            Morrigan laughed, a full sounding affair, “That is true! I am not a _rose_ in your Maker’s garden. I am the wild briar that chokes the life from all of his _flowers_ …” her eyes held a glint of disdain, “or, so your _Chantry_ would have the world believe.”

            “Are they wrong?”

            Morrigan’s smile disappeared, her mouth setting, “You wound me, bard. I was under the distinct impression that I am _here_ because I do not want that very thing.”

            Leliana sighed, “I’m sorry...”

            “Do not apologize to me, songstress!” she exclaimed before glancing at Leliana and muttering, “…It’s weird.”

            Both women fought a shared smile and an amiable silence fell between them.  She glanced over at the witch, she had changed. She could sense it, see it, feel it even. Leliana wondered what was different in the apostate. Perhaps it was the years that had spanned since they were last in each other’s company. Leliana too had transformed, perhaps not for the better, but that didn’t mean that Morrigan hadn’t.

            “Morrigan, I-” she began, but faultered unable to find words, finally she sighed and smiled gently, “I’m glad you’re here.”

            The witch pulled her head back, looking down her nose in suspicion at her. Those golden eyes piercing through her. After a moment, however, she relaxed, “And I – I am sorry about your Warden… I tried.”

            Tears sprung to her eyes from the sentiment, she nodded quietly.

            “However…” Morrigan continued, looking away from her, allowing her some semblance of dignity.  “I think not is all lost for you. Your Inquisitor looks at you in a way that the Warden never did.”

            The words drove back the tears, Leliana looked at her, “How so?”

            The witch simply smiled that ethereal smile and with a light wink, walked away.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> And we meet again... We have to stop meeting like this - me with the quickies and you ... well, you waiting with bated breath to see 'What is Bendithio doing?' 
> 
> It's a good question...a legitimate question...
> 
> One in which I don't have an answer for... Haha! This should be fun! 
> 
> As always, my friend - Be good, be safe and smile for me...it'll will make me so happy if you do... 
> 
> ~ Bendithio


	26. That Which is Revealed

* * *

            The fallout from Halamshiral was worse than she could have anticipated.

            Briala had worked quickly to consolidate her network and within a fortnight of Empress Celene’s deposal, there were edicts issued from the Throne of Orlais restoring lands, rights, treaties and establishing legal recourse for every elf and alienage in Orlais.   

            While this was a good thing to be sure! It had divided the Empire, socially.

            The nobility were loath to suddenly be legally bound to pay an honest, fair wage to their servants. The common folk however didn’t seem to mind in the slightest – except for the racists but those were everywhere and unavoidable.   The worst reaction, though, came from isolated pockets of the fractured Chantry.

            As the Left Hand, Leliana had dealt with her share of intolerant cloisters. For the most part, her interactions with these dogmatists were limited to eliminating the muckraker at the head of the pack. Usually, without the influence of angry fervor from a misguided zealot and a few choice words from the Left Hand, the monastery would quickly and quietly return to its place.

            However, with no Divine upon the Sunburst Throne, insulated cloisters were beginning to turn to leadership within their own ranks. A most dangerous and volatile situation that could quickly lead to division, which would lead to sects, which- inevitably- would lead to civil war and unspeakable atrocities committed in the name of the Maker; bigotry under the guise of holy decree, the most despicable of all apostasy.

            In fact, it had already begun. Some of her contacts within the cloisters had begun to report of murmurings against the Inquisitor. There were those who had begun to preach that the Inquisition was indeed heretical and the Inquisitor…well, the Inquisitor was something much worse than an arch demon, worse than even Corypheus himself…

            “Who do they say I am?” she asked, wiping tears of mirth away, leaning against a pillar in the Herald’s Rest to keep from falling over.

            “The Bride of Corypheus,” Leliana repeated dryly.

         Trev snorted.

                  Sera snickered.

                             Bull smirked.

            “It’s not funny,” the spymaster chastened, keeping her face unreadable.

            “Yes, it is. You must admit, spymaster - _Bride of Corypheus_ \- sounds like something Varric would write,” the Inquisitor replied, trying to keep a straight face but with the help of her second flagon of ale – her dignified demenor was becoming precarious.

            “As well as that may be, it doesn’t change the fact it is a rumor that is getting spread and it could have serious implications on our influence and reach,” Leliana replied, her patience being tried by the Inquisitor’s laissez-faire attitude towards the situation which, she suspected, might have something to do with the ale.

            “Then I will take care of it at the next war council. It’s nearly the fourth watch, what would you have me do?”

            _“Take something seriously for once,_ ” she bit back the words. Instead, she said:

            “There is one other thing I would talk to you about Inquisitor…” her eyes moving between Trevelyan’s drinking companions before landing on the Free Marcher, “Alone.”

            “Uh-oh, Honey Tongue, best watch it, the princess of pain has your number…” Sera giggled narrowing her eyes at Leliana as she did.

            The bard returned the look briefly, unable to resist pushing back at the eccentric archer, which elicited another wave of laughter from the strange elf. Thankfully, Trevelyan straightened, stepping between the two, halting any escalation.

            “After you, Spymaster,” the Inquisitor inclined her head, etiquette still firmly intact, negating Leliana’s impression of diminished decorum.

            ***

            “So, what is so important that it can’t wait?” Trevelyan asked when they were a respectable distance from listening ears, on the eastern ramparts.

            “Why didn’t you report in with me when you returned from dealing with the demon Imshael? Better question, why did you stop reporting in at all?” she demanded.

            Trev pulled her head back at the sudden interrogation, “Because Cassandra gave you the report and she also sent the field reports. I didn’t know I was _supposed_ to…I thought as the Inquisitor, it would be my discretion whom I tasked with sending news.”

            Leliana set her brow, “Yes, that is true but I would prefer your accounts as well, Cassandra’s are so…”

            “Boring?” Trevelyan offered glancing sideways.

            “Insufferably so.”

            A slow smile spread over the Inquisitor’s face, “Indeed. For a moment, I thought it was maybe because you missed me...”

            “That was hardly the case,” she lied.

            Trev laughed but it sounded off, “I thought bards were supposed to be more charming?”

            “They are, and I can be, but I cannot see the reason for it between us. You are the Inquisitor and I am your spymaster. Really, what more is there?”

            Even as she said the words, she regretted them. They couldn’t have been further from the truth but she didn’t know what else to do, what else she could say?  She couldn’t rightly make an admission of her feelings, when she didn’t know what her feelings were, could she?

            “I must have been confused because it certainly didn’t feel like such a casual _interaction_ the night of the Winter Ball…or was I mistaken of your intentions?”

            “No, you were not mistaken…” she took a deep breath, “However, you might have been mistaken about the duration of that intent. I did want you, that _night_.”

            _What is wrong with you?!_    She screamed at herself.

            “That _night_?” She saw Trev glance at her, the shadows dancing about in the night hiding her eyes, “Well, I’m glad _that_ didn’t happen because I was hoping for more than a _night_ with you. Or, is this all apart of some vague _lesson_ you are trying to teach me?”

            The tone of her words revealed more to Leliana than the words themselves. She flinched as the sarcasm of the statement hit. The Inquisitor took a deep breath and sighed.

            “You know, Spymaster, sometimes I wonder if you are truly playing _the_ Game or if you are simply playing _a_ game to hide from yourself.”

            “I-”

            “-I don’t want to discuss it anymore... Now,” Trevelyan turned fully to her, hands clasped behind her back, shoulders squared.  It was the stance of **_the_**  Inquisitor. “Do you have something of _importance_ to discuss with me, Sister Nightingale or are we _finished_?”

            The change in demeanor towards her hurt more than she could have imagined. A tight pain formed in her chest, she recognized it for what it was too late.

            “No… I mean – yes,” she cleared her throat, willing the tense ball of emotion that had twisted itself around her vocal chords, to go away, “I have received credible reports from both Morrigan and Briala that there is a contract on your life.”

            “Is there?” She watched the Inquisitor’s lip twist into a feral smile, “Well, this is _good_ news. Thank you. I’ll be sure to await my assassin whilst I sleep…comforted knowing that my _spymaster_ has already driven a dagger into my _back._ ”

            “That’s not-!” she began, in her defense.

            “-Isn’t it? Can you think of a deeper betrayal? Truly, an assassin would merely be doing his job, it would be nothing _personal_.  I cannot say for certain if the same is true for _you,_ or not.”

            She dropped her chin imperceptibly in shame. Of course, Trevelyan would see it _that_ way. Leliana had never really shared anything about herself, only drawing information from the Free Marcher about _herself_ and never reciprocating in return.

            “I’m sorry, Trev…”

            “I have a title spymaster, might I suggest you use _it_ , instead.”

            And with that Trevelyan slammed the door shut on the conversation, on Leliana, on _them_.

            “Thank you for the _warning_ , Nightingale. I _trust_ you have the matter under control... or am I _mistaken_ about that too?”

            “No Your Worship.”

            “Then I bid you a good night.”

            The Inquisitor was gone before she could open her mouth to speak, leaving the solitary songstress on the cold ramparts of a fortress of her own making.

             ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear reader,
> 
> I apologize if this chapter makes little sense! I am sleep deprived and haven't slept in almost 34 hours. And while my new found insomnia is helpful at getting lots done! I'm going to assume that it probably isn't conducive to creativity or grammar...don't get me started on punctuation ... wahahaha - my apologizes if'n you find the wrong empha'sis on the wrong syl'lable... or a million comma marks running through the piece, like wild bunnies just popping up here and there as you trip on them... Weee...
> 
> I hope you are having a good day! Mine is so good it just NEVER ENDS!!!!! Hahaha... okay, smile for me friend - and possibly take a nap for me too. :) I will come back and edit - I promise...
> 
> ~Bendithio


	27. Of Assassins & Apologies

           She couldn’t sleep.

           Leliana had returned to her quarters after her fallout with the Inquisitor.  Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t bothered to change from her daily attire. She had simply climbed onto the mattress and lain atop the covers, staring at the dark ceiling above - her words, Trev’s words, and the whole of their interaction, each trudging and twirling through her mind.

           Since when had she lost her composure?  How was it that she could handle both nobility and peasantry with the greatest of ease – but one savvy, easy going _Free Marcher_ had the ability to unseat her ways?  It _scared_ her… she had _reacted_ and now she feared what would come from her cowardice.

           Trevelyan’s authority as Inquisitor placed her in a precarious position.  The Marcher did not need any more stress added to her already demanding existence.  She needed a means of _escape_ from the daily burden of saving all of Thedas and that had originally been Leliana’s intent.  To create a space in Trev’s mind to which she could default during times of high stress…

           Unfortunately, she had underestimated Trevelyan’s history and what should have been an easily emplaced, conditioned psychological response, had failed.  Yes, a _space_ had been created in the Marcher’s mind but it was in the shape of the spymaster and not the form she had intended to give it.

           She had wanted Trev to focus on her because if she had done so, the way Leliana had planned; the Left Hand would have been able to influence the Inquisitor’s will by suggestion alone.  However, Trevelyan had already been _broken_ by Master Tartish and _restored_ by Ophelia.  There was no way for Leliana to establish dominion over the Free Marcher short of breaking her again and in a worse way than Tartish himself had done.   And, if she did that, she _herself_ could not be the one to restore her.  Someone else would have to be the source of solace for Trevelyan…

           …And _that_ thought, was too painful for the bard.

           She cursed herself… what had she done?  Somewhere, from the distant parts of a memory, Marjolaine’s voice whispered: “ _Never delay the inevitable.  If you can strike, strike._ ”

           She sighed. The words driving her from her bed and back into the night.

           ***

           Leli slipped in unnoticed through the upstairs door.

           Much to her relief, Cole wasn’t there or, at least, she didn’t see him.   She leaned over the banister to survey the situation.  The crowd had thinned somewhat but Maryden continued to play and sing.  She prayed that she wouldn’t sing _Nightingale’s Eyes_.  While as a bard, she was flattered that another had written a song about her...her personal feelings about the whole affair weren’t so _warm_.  She moved quickly down the first flight, sticking to the darker areas, moving through the patrons in various stages of inebriation.  She rounded a corner on her way to the last flight when something caught her attention.  She backed up quickly into the shadows in order to watch:

           Trevelyan was no longer drinking with Bull and Sera.  In fact, neither one of her earlier companions could be seen.  Instead, she sat talking with Scout Harding.  She took the opportunity to analyze their relationship based on body language:

           The two were obviously friendly, perhaps even close.  Rather than sit opposite each other across the table, they sat side by side.  Trevelyan had her body three-quarters turned towards the dwarf, but Harding was only slightly turned; one could suggest the position to be _coy_.  From the way the Scout was stealing glances, she suspected interest on Harding’s part.

           She felt a twitch of jealousy in her chest but dismissed it.

           So intently was she watching the two interact that she didn’t notice a _breathtaking_ elf approaching the duo until she stepped demurely up to their table.  From the way she was dressed, she was obviously Antivan.

           The Inquisitor looked up and spoke to the female, who pointed to a notice pinned on the pillar next to them.  Harding laughed, in what sounded like disbelief and then glanced back at Trevelyan, who smiled and nodded in encouragement even as Harding was shaking her head no.  The Marcher appeared to try and cajole Harding, who laughed again and stood up from the table dragging the Inquisitor along with her.

           Leliana could finally see Harding’s lips to read them:

           “ _If you want to learn to dance, might I recommend the Inquisitor, she_ **_knows_ ** _how to dance.  From what I hear? They are still talking about her…”_

           She couldn’t see the response but the dwarf smiled and taking Trevelyan’s by the forearm, she offered up the Marcher’s hand, which the elf promptly took.  

           It was her brow’s turn to twitch.

           Maryden saw the couple moving towards what served as a dance floor. She struck up the chords of a song that Leli recognized as _Once We Were._  She watched as the Inquisitor took up her position, noting that the Free Marcher pulled her partner in closer than what propriety dictated.   As the two began a simple box step, she observed that the Antivan was light on her feet, her movements fluid and graceful.  They were not the movements of a servant or a worker.  They were not the movements of someone who did _not_ know how to dance.  They were the movements of someone who knew all too well how to _dance._

           Her eyes widened imperceptibly as realization struck. She swore and looked around. Harding was _nowhere_ to be seen.  She cursed again and made a note to have the dwarf thrown in the dungeon.  The charge would be dereliction of duty.  The offense?  Leaving the Inquisitor alone as she waltzed with her killer.

           ***

           One flit led to another.  Each one a little slower, each one a little closer.  Finally, when Maryden had finished for the evening, the two returned to the chairs that Trev and Harding had earlier occupied.  Leliana fought the urge to walk up behind the woman and slip her dagger under and up, directly below the eighth rib, just be _done_ with it… but if she struck too soon or tipped off the elf - any accomplices she might have would disappear and they would be back to square one in sussing out who wanted Trevelyan dead.  

           It was _killing_ her to watch the Antivan smile and flirt demurely.  She laughed at all the right times and at all of the Inquisitor’s ( _probably_ ) tasteless jokes.  She would pull her chestnut locks back off of her shoulder, exposing a delicate, graceful neck and pointed ears that were small for an elf… she was most likely only _elf-blooded…_ and she would tilt her head ever so slightly, subtly offering it up to the Free Marcher.  She wanted to scream in frustration and rage:  

           How could _anyone_ be so stupid?  How thickheaded could the Inquisitor possibly be?  Didn’t she realize what was happening?  Didn’t _she_ mean anything at all to Trevelyan?

           She pulled up short at the last thought.  Guilt tore through her as she realized that it was most likely _her_ fault that this was even happening.  If she hadn’t said what she had said.  If she hadn’t done what she had done earlier … if she hadn’t entertained the physical element, toyed with Trevelyan, teasing her, than perhaps the Inquisitor wouldn’t be considering the elf-blood with a _hungry_ look in her eyes.

           The Antivan saw it too.

           She leaned in close, whispering.  A slow, expectant smile crept over the Free Marcher’s face and she nodded once before standing and heading towards the door, the woman following moments later.

 _Maker, no!_  

           Leliana sprung from her seat, hurrying up the stairs, out the door and onto the ramparts. She dashed through two towers.  Reaching the western wall, she jumped down onto the stone patio roof above the garden, picking her way across the slippery tile before leaping back over the retaining wall and entering the Grand Hall.    She could hear quiet voices echoing softly as she moved across the upper level to a secret passage at the top of stairs. Finding the catch, she pushed the wall inward just enough so that she could slip through and hurried up the rickety ladder that led to a hatch hidden in the backroom of the Inquisitor's tower.

           She heard light, enchanting laughter coming up the stairs and watched from the shadows as the Antivan finally came into view, a look of wide-eyed, innocent wonder on her features. _Oh, please…_

           “I’ve never seen anything like this!”

            The Nightingale’s lip curled in derision.

           “And now you have,” Trevelyan wriggled her eyebrows comically, a mischievous grin on her face. “Kiss me?”

_Maker have mercy! Really, Trevelyan!_

            The bard couldn’t help but feel sorry for the assassin at the moment. However, Trev's drollness didn’t seem to bother the woman. The corner of her lips curled in a soft, seductive smile.  She looked at the Inquisitor, eyes hooded, teeth raking over her bottom lip, drawing the Marcher's eyes before letting her tongue snake out over the supple flesh,  “Maybe…”

            Leliana stamped down a groan in her chest.  She didn’t want to watch what would happen next but someone needed to watch Trevelyan’s back… literally.

            The would-be killer stepped in close, sliding her arms around the Inquisitor’s neck before capturing her mouth in a slow, sensual kiss.   

            She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms and focused on the Antivan hands, forcing herself to not actually _watch._  Catching movement in her right peripheral- she shot her hand out silently, stiletto sliding into her palm, the tip stopping a hair’s breadth from… _Harding?!_

            If she had scared the Scout, she could not tell.  Harding lifted her hand, pointing two fingers towards her eyes before rotating the same fingers upwards and then clenching them into a fist.  Leliana gave a curt nod.  She understood.  They were watching, waiting for two more assassins.  They were dealing with a murder of Crows.  She caught the dwarf’s gaze, arched an eyebrow and cantered her head towards Trevelyan.  Harding nodded.  Leliana frowned.  Trevelyan was in on it. _Obviously, she is_ **_enjoys_ ** _being bait._

            By now, the Marcher was walking both of them towards the bed, careful to keep her partner's back towards their vantage point .  Trevelyan opened her eyes, meeting Leliana’s gaze.  Much to the Inquisitor's credit and her chagrin, Trev didn’t falter at all.  She simply winked salaciously before returning her full _attention_ to the Antivan, who was now moaning in obvious pleasure.

 _These bastards better show themselves soon or I will_ **_kill_ ** _Trevelyan myself and save them the trouble._

            As if a prayer had been answered, the other two Crows appeared on either of the balconies.  Harding pulled a perfectly balanced, dwarven dagger from its sheath.  She anchored it between her thumb and forefinger, glancing up, indicating the means by which she intended to take her target.  Leliana blinked her approval and following suit she took aim at the assassin closest to her...

            It was only the sound of blood gurgling in throats and bodies hitting the floor that alerted the Antivan their attempt had failed.  She jerked back suddenly from the kiss, shock all over her face.  Screaming in rage, she launched herself at the Inquisitor’s throat.  Trevelyan caught her by the shoulders and delivered a vicious headbutt.  Leliana felt a small thrill of vindication as she heard the crunch of cartilage and bone.  The assassin dropped unconscious, blood pouring from her shattered nose and mouth.

            “Well, that _was_ exciting!  So glad you could join us, Spymaster.”

            “What in the Maker’s name do you think you were doing?!” she demanded.

            “Killing two birds with one stone?” Trev offered.

            “You are _impossible!_ ” She threw her hands in the air, landing them on her hips.  She leaned forward, eyes fiery.  “You could have gotten killed, you know?  And how did you even learn of this plan, hm?”

            “Actually, Scout Harding…” Trevelyan began looking around, past Leliana.  She frowned, “Where did she go?”

            “Answer the question!”

            “I’m getting _there_ , Spymaster.  Scout Harding stumbled over a body on her way back from Crestwood.  It turns out it was a messenger from whomever ordered the contract on my life. She was able to contact a _friend_ associated with the Crows.  Come to find out, he is not only quiet the smith, his is also quiet the spy.  Lace told me this morning.  Why do you think I spent _all_ day at the tavern?” Trev laughed, “Don’t worry, Spymaster.  I won’t give your job to Harding.”

            “I-...Inquisitor?”

            Trev looked at her with an easy smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “Yes, Spymaster?”

            “About earlier, I-”

            “-Like I said, I do not wish to discuss the matter any more.  Leave it alone, Leli.”

            “But, I do!  Trev, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean -” She trailed off trying to gather her nerve.  “I didn’t mean what I said.  I lied.”

            She frowned, confusion playing on her face, “Lied? Why?”

            “Because-” she faltered again.   _Tell her!_  “Because I’m scared of feeling what I feel for you.”

            “And what is that?”

             A million replies came to mind but each failed to adequately express how she felt.  Finally, she decided on the only response she knew carried the weight of words she could not find.

            “This-” she murmured, pulling Trevelyan into a soul-baring kiss.

           ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> I feel so bad. You would not believe my luck. It's been one of those weeks! Where I just can't get out of my own way! Haha. Also, my laptop decided that it just never wanted to turn on ever again and so I had to purchase another one. Hence why the update is a tad late... my apologizes. ;)
> 
> Also, this chapter went through many incarnations before I arrived at this...whatever I did here. :) Please don't shoot the author. 
> 
> I hope you are well my friend. I will try to never leave you alone this long ever again.
> 
> Smile for me, yeah? :)
> 
> ~ Bendithio


	28. Of Remembrances & Reminders

* * *

          ‘ _The Chantry._ ’

          That’s who had hired the assassins or at least that’s what the remaining one had confessed to before the spymaster had her left hamstring cut, returning her to the Crows with a note that read:

            _Mind which_ _nest she flies to._

_~Nightingale_

          She knew that the Crow leadership had already ordered: ‘ _Hands off the Inquisitor_ ’.  Wisely knowing that _killing_ the only person that could close Fade rifts was probably in the realm of _exceedingly_ foolish.  Therefore, the woman and her compatriots had acted outside of the scope of Crow mandate and because of it the would-be killer had forfeited the guild’s protection.  She would let the Crows deal with their own...but only _after_ Leliana exacted some _justice_ herself.  The elf-blood would never lie about not being able to dance _ever_ again.

         While she did not think that the woman was lying about someone _from_ the Chantry hiring them, it also was a very _vague_ lead.  The trouble coming from fractured cloisters was steadily increasing.  She needed to find which _voice_ was the loudest and _silence_ it once and for all.

         She had her suspicions about  _who_ was behind it and if they proved to be true, there was a very good possibility that Trevelyan would learn quite a bit about the Left Hand and her past.  As much as she didn’t want to bring it up, it would be better if the Marcher heard it from her lips rather than someone else’s.  Not that she was ashamed of the events of her life… it was simply _her_ story to tell and no one else’s.

 _“I do not wish to speak of this now…I’m sorry.”_ Leliana sighed, remembering her words.  

         She had figured, given enough time, the Free Marcher would forget she asked her about the Warden and Leliana would never be in the situation of having to reveal _anything_ about herself or her past.  Alas, things had changed…

         She had stayed the night after the attempt on Trevelyan's life.  Nothing had occurred.  The Inquisitor had been a perfect _lady_ and had offered to sleep on the divan.  Leli awoke early the next morning, her body curled around Trevelyan’s, nose buried in the junction of shoulder, neck and back.  The scent of the Free Marcher’s skin was heavenly, like mahogany and teak wood on a warm summer’s day.   She lingered for a few moments, breathing in the aroma, forming a new memory before she slipped unnoticed from the simple, unassuming bed that Trevelyan had ordered shipped from Ostwick.

         That had been a week ago.  The two hadn’t really spoken since.  Both of them extraordinarily busy.  The Inquisitor had departed for the Emerald Graves, while the Left Hand had sent agents to the five cloisters that she suspected of rebellion.  Word was slow in coming, but that did not mean there weren’t other matters of interest to attend to, such as:

         The sudden influx of red lyrium through the Free Marches and the way Blackwall had begun to act even _stranger_ than he normally did.  After the Wardens had been conscripted, Cullen had approached him about using his experience to train up a new chain of command.  He had refused, saying that he needed to be available for the Inquisitor.

         The only problem was- Trev almost _never_ traveled with him.

 _“There is something not quite … right, about him,”_  she had said not long after Blackwall had joined the Inquisition.  Leliana had pursued the lead but had forgotten about it until recently… The information was _disturbing_ if it proved to be true.  

          She decided to file it away.  Blackwall had proven himself useful to the Inquisition and had saved enough _innocent_ lives that she didn’t see the point in bringing it up, unless he did something to endanger the Inquisitor.  No amount of _good_ he had done would spare him after that.

          She assigned Ritts to watch him.  That way, Leliana could sleep better at night and Ritts would be _busy_ doing something _other_ than all the willing women in Skyhold.  She smirked remembering the day the girl tried to work her charms on the Spymaster… she wondered if the agent dared enter the rookery, yet?  Or, if she had recovered from her _new_  deathly fear of Baron Plucky…

          “Andraste alive!  You are smiling.  Whom have you killed?”  Josephine demanded playfully.

           Leli gave her friend a paltry insulted look, “Killed?  No one yet.  But I have been planning a particularly brutal assassination of a _beautiful_ but _insipid_ Antivan ambassador.”

          “She sounds _marvelous!_ Anyone I know?” Her eyes danced.

           She huffed, “Most certainly not.  She _pales_ in comparison to your _insipidness._ ”

           The ambassador laughed, “You _are_ in a good mood.  Come, Leli, tell me!”

           The bard said nothing.

           Josie scrutinized her face.  Searching for clues amidst the stoicism finally she gasped lightly but _dramatically._  She leaned forward whispered:  “Is it Trevelyan?”

           Leliana couldn’t stop her pupils from dilating and closing her eyes would just give it away. All she could do was pray that her friend would miss the tell.  

           “It is!” Josie squealed quietly.  _Damn it._

           “Ssh!  Keep your voice _down_ !  I do not wish to discuss it with you; here, now or _ever!”_  she hissed at the Antivan, who laughed in response.

           “Very well,  we won’t discuss it _here_ or _now_ but we _will_ discuss it,” she winked.

           A short groan escaped her throat as she rolled her eyes, “What can I do for you, _Ambassador?_ ”

           Josephine sobered a bit,  “A courier came today bringing a letter for you.”

           “Oh?  Who’s it from?”

           “Most Holy, Divine Justinia.”

           ***

           She hadn’t opened it, she had put it away.  

           Instead, she stepped out into the cold drizzle that had settled in over Skyhold.  She started over the arch bridge, her footsteps following the usual path her worried wanderings took her.  Glancing over the retaining wall, she noticed Trevelyan had returned.   Even in the grey-scale of the sleet soaked day the Marcher had an arresting presence.

           The Inquisitor sat with one leg crossed over the horn of her saddle, leaning forward onto her knees, seemingly oblivious to the water sluicing down her dark hair and over noble features, as she waited patiently for Master Dennet to attend to the others, knowing the dangers that came with crowding too many cold and tired animals.  It wasn’t until she hopped down, taking the reigns with her and leading her mount towards its stall that Leliana realized she had been staring.

           She caught up to Trevelyan as she started up the winding back stairs to the kitchens, “Inquisitor!”

           Trev turned with a smile, “Spymaster!”

           “Do you have a moment?”

           “For you?  I have several.  What can I do?”

           Leliana shivered, the rain finally soaking her through, “Can we g-go somewhere dryer to speak?”

           “After you,” she replied, extending her hand towards the servants entrance, which did not go unnoticed by the bard.

            A most wonderful aroma washed over them as they entered the kitchens.  On instinct, Leliana’s eyes began searching for the source of such decadence.  She soon saw that the cook had prepared a hearty stew, perfect for chasing away the chill of the day.   While she went to claim two bowls; Trevelyan continued on her way, seemingly oblivious to the olfactory delights about her.

            “Trevelyan,” the name becoming a command to stop.

            “What?”

            “Come eat,” she urged, holding up a bowl.

            “Here?” The Marcher seemed perplexed.

            “Yes, here.  C’mon.” She nodded towards a small table tucked away in a corner by the cooking fires and setting the bowls down,  “It’s probably much warmer than your room.”

            “Well, what did you expect locking me away in a _tower_? I think you did it on purpose,” Trev groused, joining her.  

            The stew was heavenly in the subtle earth tones of its flavor, she cut off a moan of pleasure, swallowing she nodded slightly, “I did.”

            “Really?”

            “Mm-hm.”

            “Why?”

             She stopped the spoon halfway to her mouth, “Do you _really_ want to know the answer to that question?”

             She watched as conflict played over gracious features.  Then finely, _wisely,_  she said: “No.”

             Leliana’s gaze flicked over to the yet untouched bowl and back to Trevelyan’s eyes, “Then eat.”

             An admiring smile crept across the Marcher's face as she picked up her spoon, “What did you want to talk about, Spymaster?”

             She fell silent for a moment.  She had no idea how she could even begin to segue into the topic.  How could she give voice to the Nightingale’s song again?  Lost in thought, her eyes fell on the Inquisitor’s meal.

            “Does it bother you?” she asked.

            “Does _what_ bother me?"

            “The fact that you have to be reminded to eat.”

            She frowned, “I don’t _need_ to be reminded to eat.  I would just eat less… _alot_ less.  But, I would remember… eventually.  As for your question?  No, it doesn’t… well, _didn’t_ ... not until you _asked_ anyway… let no one accuse you of excellent dinner conversation, Spymaster.”

            “Would you believe that I have actually been accused of that _very_ thing quite often?”

            “You are a _terrible_ liar,” Trev deadpanned.

             A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, she appreciated that _skill_.  The Inquisitor’s uncanny ability to make her smile or laugh unexpectedly.  The Marcher’s warm nature, cutting through the fog of melancholy that sometimes would cling to her spirit.

            “I think I would like to meet the one who conducted your finishing lessons than.”

            “You can’t.  She’s dead.”

            Trev looked at her next bite, suddenly not so interested, “I’m sorry? What happened?”

            “I’m not and the Hero of Ferelden killed her.” 

            Her eyebrows shot nearly to her hairline.

            “Oh! That was probably...awkward.  I can see how your dinner conversation is abysmal but it isn’t so bad that it warrants _death_ -”

            “-She was also my Bardmaster.”

            “That would explain it,” Trev replied quietly, “I’ve heard stories…”

            “Would you like to hear mine?”

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, dear reader - 
> 
> I'm sorry for the late/early/on time? post. I keep losing track of time and sleep is for pansies and people who value their sanity! What would I need sleep for?! I laugh at sleep and it laughs right back at me. *sighs* A huge thunderstorm is keeping me awake!
> 
> I hope you have a fantastic day! In fact, I give you permission to have an awesome day...think you can swing it, for me? Thanks... :)
> 
>  
> 
> ~Bendithio


	29. Duo Enim Harmonia

* * *

 

          She followed the Spymaster through the cramped, dimly lit passageways below the Grand Hall, she listened attentively but kept finding her eyes drawn to the bard's shapely behind and the hypnotic swing of her hips.  Trev shook her head to regain her focus…

          “In the autumn after I met Marjolaine, she invited me on a hunting excursion and gifted me with a bow,” she laughed without mirth, “I was so awkward!  I ended up wounding a hart that the hunters had been tracking.  If you would believe, Inquisitor, it turned out that I didn’t have the _heart_ to end it’s suffering.  I couldn’t bring myself to _kill_ the poor animal - even though it was as good as dead anyway - thanks to my fumbling with the bow.  It would have suffered unimaginably!  Marjolaine, however, surprised me.  She went to the animal and deftly, with her own dagger, ended its anguish.  I can still see her face, the blood on her hands, the smell of sanguine and death dancing in the air… I will never forget what she said to me:  “ _Never delay the inevitable.  If you can strike, strike_.”

          The passage opened up into the original Grand Hall, the one on which the _current_ Grand Hall was built.  Trevelyan had passed through it countless times during her walks about the Hold but she had never stopped to explore the space.  

          “Needless to say...the words, the blood, the danger, her beauty, the _mystique_ that surrounded her!  It captured my mind, created a space in it that only _she_ could occupy... it took me a long time to realize - that had been her intent all along.  Stay here for a moment, yes?”

          Trev stopped in her tracks, not that she minded _watching_ Leliana walk away.  The sway of her hips, the way she flared either one at the apex of her stride.  ... _Maker…_  Trev took a deep breath, her body remembering to breath for her.  The spymaster, for her part, had stopped in front of an arced, recessed wall.  She scrutinized the bricks for only moment, then reaching out, tapped one with a blow from the side of her fist.  The wall moved back and to the side, the muffled groan of ancient dwarven gears coming from within. The Spymaster looked back over her shoulder, “Come, there is something I wish to show you.”

          The secret room was surprising large.  The walls had been laid with deep, red timbers effectively rendering the space sound proof.  On one side was a desk, obviously used but neatly kept.  Bookshelves that were packed to overflow with titles as interesting and varied as the bard herself.  Trev grinned, noting that the space simply screamed _Spymaster._

          “This space is very…” she began, her eyes moving from the office area over the back wall, which held a modest bed, armoire and an equipment chest, to the opposite wall, which held the shackles and chains- “...cozy.  Spymaster?”

          “Hm?”

           Her eyes rambled down restraints, which could be adjusted in length, to the floor which was slightly concave towards a grated drain.  She finally drug her eyes back up towards Leliana, who stood eyebrows lifted expectantly,  “Is there something you would like to tell me?”

           Leliana fixed her with a look that was something between annoyed and affectionate.  It was hard to explain, only the Spymaster could pull it off, “Actually, I _was_ telling you something.”

           She flashed an apologetic grin, “My apologizes, please continue...”

           The Orlesian held _that_ look for a beat longer, tossing Trevelyan a subtle wink of forgiveness, she continued;

           “It was after that, that Marjolaine took me under her tutelage.  She always told me: _‘There are three weapons at your disposal as a bard and a woman.  One is subterfuge.  The other? Manipulation.  But! The most powerful of the three is your sex, Nightingale.  Whether it is consummated or not, the idea of it is enough to bring nobles to their knees.  Learn to use it well, mon petit oiseau.’_...”

            She trailed off, the shadow of a memory falling over them before she shook her head lightly as if to clear it.  She moved towards the restraints.

            “Did I ever tell you that Marjolaine was a bard master's, master?”

             Trev shook her head slowly, _mindful_ to not speak again.

            “Marjolaine’s skills as a bard were non peril.  She rarely took on proteges.  Her trick, you see, was to instruct her pupil without ever having to say so.  She taught by immersion.  She would take me to soirees, fêtes, galas and the like and I would watch her.  The way she moved, the way she held herself.  The way she tilted her chin, meant to be coy but an effective means to look about oneself without actually looking about.  Every movement precise, meticulously executed.  From a toss of the chin, to a hungry glance - all of these things were so much _more_ than what they appeared to be.  No action, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, was not without a purpose.”

             Leliana paused, her hands on those stately hips, scrutinizing the shackles and chains, she straightened one with her boot.

             “She was an artist.  Her words and charm, delicate instruments of destruction.  She seduced nobles and peasants alike.  Promises whether spoken of or hinted at.  Threats: explicit and implied.  Her wiles were so deadly, she rarely had to use her blade.”

             She moved on in her inspection and story.

             “After a few years, we became lovers.”

             “Wait! What?” she blurted out.

             Leliana laughed in delight at the look on the Inquisitor’s face, her eyes dancing, “Does that shock you? Why?”

             “It’s just that…” she frowned, “it seems like there should be some … er, ethical considerations in that.”

             Leliana looked at her squarely, “Why?  I was of majority.”

             Trevelyan snapped her mouth closed.  She knew better than to _even_ begin a rebuttal.  That _look_ again ... _Maker…._  Her heart increased its tempo.

             Satisfied that the Inquisitor wouldn’t interject, she turned her attention back to first of the two arm restraints.

             “ _After_ we become lovers, Marjolaine introduced me to Court and quickly I was doing as she had done.  I had learned by watching a true master work.  But there is a saying: ‘ _Wary is the Master of whom the Apprentice exceeds’._  I could do all that Marjolaine could do and _more._  What was worse for her?  I was younger, prettier, _chaster_ than she.  This gave me advantages that I didn’t even know I had over her.  There is a saying in Orlais: ‘ _A good bard knows her reputation but does not hear it spoken.’_  Such was the case for me.  I did not _know_ of my own reputation in the bardic circle.  But, it was enough to threaten Marjolaine and, as was her nature, the white widow turned on me as well.”

             She ran her elegant, deft fingers over the links, checking them for weak points before jerking the head of the shackle, testing the tension.  Trev was enthralled with the precision in which the Left Hand’s hands moved, “She set me up.  Stabbed me and left me in the hands of a man that even the fires of hell are too _good_ for.”

             Letting the shackle down, she turned her attention to the final one.  Picking it up almost delicately so, said;

             “It was there that I received my _punishment_ .  For every slight, every misstep, every mistake that I had ever made with Marjolaine.  Perhaps...it was my punishment _for_ Marjolaine.  I thought that at one point, you know?  It was then that I prayed for the first time… well, actually argued with the Maker for the first time.  I demanded an accounting.  Why had he left me, us, the whole world alone in such a miserable rot!  Do you want to know his answer?”

             She glanced up briefly at her. Trev just held her gaze, features impassive.  However, inside, her blood was boiling.  Her mind screamed in abject rage at Leliana’s words.  Every single one of her muscles began to slowly coil in unspent fury.  She could feel a tightness begin in the back of her jaw.  She saw Leli’s eyes flare briefly in recognition of the growing tension in the air. ... _Maker!..._

             “Silence,” she continued, “His word was silence.  But later that night, his answer came in the form of the Mother Dorothea helping me and my friend escape.  With her guidance, I found peace in a small cloister in Lothering.  It was there I met the Warden.  I enlisted with her, fought beside her, fell in love with her.  I was happy.  Then she died.  For a long time, I thought he saved me only to punish me in a much crueler way: To give me love.  To give me hope.  To rip it all away.”

             Leliana let the shackle down slowly, letting each cool, polished link slip through her fingers before turning fully towards the Inquisitor,  “It turns out though, it wasn’t the Maker’s will for the Warden to die.  It was hers.”

             She let silence fall in between, drawing the Free Marcher’s eyes to her own, holding them in a unreadable, smoldering look.

             “As you can see, Inquisitor.  I have a history of falling for powerful women.  And perhaps, therein was the problem, for you see, it was never me they loved.  I was an accessory, a tool, something to be used in whatever they had set themselves to.  Ultimately, their love was for themselves and I? ... An afterthought, if a thought at all,” Leliana started towards her.

             “But you?  You command more power than either of them could have ever imagined and yet, you seem unphased by it all,” she stopped in front of the Marcher, a hand’s breadth between them.  “I wonder... is this because of your time with Tartish or is it because it is who you truly are?”

              “That _is_ an interesting question, Spymaster, one I’m afraid you’ll never find out the answer to.”

              “Oh?  What if I told you I could do so with one request?”

              “Is that so?  Hmm.  Well, now, that _would_ be interesting to see,” a subtle smirk pulling the corner of her mouth.

              “You doubt me?”

              “Only in this, I assure you.”

              Leliana’s pupils dilated.  She grinned both inwardly and outwardly; the Marcher knew what she wanted to ask, what she needed to ask, probably better than the Spymaster herself.  The bard was looking for a sign of submission, a signal that Trevelyan would not leave - at least, not as the others had done.  For her, it seemed frivolous but for the bard - it meant something.

              “Just so you know...You don’t have to _ask_ to chain me to the wall.  In fact, it’s _so_ much hotter if you just _do_ it,” she replied, flicking the last syllable off her tongue... It worked.  

              Leliana closed the distance, capturing Trev’s mouth with her own, fingertips finding the soft skin behind the Marcher’s ears, thumbs caressing down either side of her neck, sweeping over collarbones with the most delicate of touches. Lips and tongues clashing, soothing, demanding and receiving.  She felt the bard’s hands on her hips, gently pushing her backwards, walking her towards the bed.  When the back of the Inquisitor’s legs hit the soft mattress, Leliana pulled away quickly but gently, hands going to the buttons of her vest, working quickly to remove the offending material that stood in her way.

              “What happened to chaining me to the wall?” The Marcher joked in between light gasps for air.

               Her fingers froze for a second, eyes looking up into Trevelyan’s.  The Inquisitor’s breath caught in her chest.  A look.  An emotion.  A warmth, that she had _never_ seen before - sat squarely in the light blue depths.  If the rogue didn't know better, she would have sworn it was _love…_

               “I don’t need to.  You’ve already done so in the manner that matters most…” she murmured softly, brushing her lips lightly over Trev’s before catching her gaze again, “In your heart.”

               Her words cut down the last of the Free Marcher's reservations.  Capturing that succulent mouth she dreamed of every night with her own, she growled, pulling the Spymaster close and holding on tightly, she  _fell…_

            .. taking Leli…

                .. and her heart…

                          .. with her....

          ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... So.....
> 
> It seems that they both have fallen...
> 
> I figured we would let them have their privacy... *shuts the door quietly*
> 
> Ah, love... Is there really anything better under the sun? ... I think not...
> 
> With that said my friend... here is my love, it is my gift to you - take it and smile. :)
> 
> Until we meet again - be safe...
> 
> ~Bendithio


	30. Interlude: Of Omissions

* * *

          She hadn’t told the Inquisitor about Thom Rainier.

          She honestly hadn’t expected him to ever reveal his secret, but now he was gone and Trevelyan had followed as soon as she had found out.  It’s not that she had expected the Inquisitor to do anything less.  In the few weeks since they had consummated their relationship, she had discovered all sorts of things about the Free Marcher, such as her loyalty...  

          Leliana had always known that the Inquisitor was a loyal and faithful soul, but she hadn’t paid attention to how much so, until she started listening with the ears of a lover.  She had known that Trev had gone out of her way to help her closest companions but had not known to what extent, which led her to her second discovery…

          Trevelyan didn’t tell her _all_ that she did when she was off galavanting around Thedas.   _This_ annoyed and slightly bothered the Spymaster.  Why hadn’t she noticed before?  She had only just learned of her adventures with Cassandra, chasing down rogue mages all across the _map._  Nor, had she known about trudging through the swamps of the Exalted Plains to slay a massive, elusively rare, snowy wyvern only to cut out its heart... of course, she hadn’t been surprised when she found out who it was for.

          Which brought her to her next trouble and the reason for her second glass of a blissful Orlesian red with just the slightest dollop of honey… the matter of the whom was to become the next Divine.  

           She had overheard the Imperial Enchanter trying to manipulate the Inquisitor into supporting her bid for the title of Divine.  She had held her breath as Trev had gracefully dodged any attempts Vivienne made at getting her to say _anything_ that hinted at support for the mage.  She had even tried the tactic of being 'fellow Marchers' to sway the Inquisitor.  Finally, to Vivienne’s disapproval, Trev had casually brought up Leliana, in a marvelous display of polite political dexterity and shut down the Imperial Enchanter’s attempt at a coup d'état of the Sun Burst throne.

_Leliana could of kissed her at that moment and when Trev came around the corner, headed towards the rookery, in the rarely used stairwell- she did.  Pinning the Inquisitor to the wall with her hips, her hands went to either side of the Marcher’s face, the tips of her fingers finding the sensitive nook just behind her ears, lightly caressing, eliciting a quiet moan that she felt more than heard… their kiss remaining as silent as the spymaster herself could be.  She loved it and smiled into their exchange._

_“What?” Trev quietly mumbled against her lips._

_Leliana, still smiling, shook her head. “Nothing…”_

_Trev looked into her eyes, huffing a light laugh, “Then, what was_ **_that_ ** _for?”_

_“The kiss?”  She went to her toes and kissed Trev’s forehead, “Must I have a reason?”_

_“With you, Spymaster?  There’s_ **_always_ ** _a reason...”_

          Of course, she had been right.

          While she had yet to even consider the College of Clerics _consideration_.  She knew that, no matter what, Vivienne should not be allowed to take the throne.  She had too many dark, political ambitions for such a position.  She could only imagine what the Enchanter was capable of- Leliana swore to the Maker that she would not let that happen.

          She would have never even considered it at all if it hadn’t come from the Inquisitior’s lips.  Even though she had used it to deflect Vivienne, it was said with such contemplation and earnestness that she knew the Inquisitor truly did think her capable of the job.  Which filled her with a happy pride and brought terrible dread.  

 _Trev…_ They had only just begun exploring their feelings but the Spymaster would be a liar to say that she didn’t feel a deep bond forming, which was becoming something of an attachment, to the debonair rogue.  

          She couldn’t deny that the Marcher managed to bring a smile, no matter how hidden, to her face and heart.  And, the more she got to know the Inquisitor on an intimate level, she saw that Trevelyan was an intricately woven individual, who was not so _easily_ explained.  And while she came across as vivacious and candid, there were many secrets that the Spymaster was only _beginning_ to discover.  

          However, there were certain _rules_ that the Divine was supposed to uphold, being the representative of Andraste herself which seemed hypocritical. It was _common_ knowledge that Andraste had had a mortal husband… Did they really think she never _consummated_ that bond? Not for the first time, she wondered how _virginal_ and _chaste_ had ever become _traits_ of the Maker’s Bride.  She and Dorothea had often joked about it.  If she took up the Sun Burst throne, she and Trevelyan could _never_ be together.  At least…they could never be _found_ out.   _Maker, forgive me, you already have Cousland and Dorothea... I’m_ **_keeping_ ** _Trevelyan._

          She sighed, rubbing her temple gently to ease the pressure that was building there.  It was far too much to think about for the moment. Pushing the thoughts away, she abandoned her glass and began readying herself for bed.  She was about to slip out of her trousers when a knock sounded at her door.

          “Who is it?” she called.  

          There was no answer.  Her eyes narrowed.   

          She blew out the candles that were providing the only light in her room.  She slipped her wrist dagger from its sheath and bare-footed, padded to the door pressing herself flat against the wall beside it. She readied her dagger in her left hand and slipped the latch, letting the door fall open under it’s own weight…

          ...Only the silver light of the moon fell through the doorway.  The bard waited, her breathing slow and even, even as her heart began to beat faster.   She decided that it would be better to _look_ rather than _wait_ as all the mosquitoes and moths in Skyhold found their way into her chambers. Leliana dropped the dagger down beside her thigh and carefully pushed the door open with her toes.  Seeing nothing to the left, she took a deep breath and began to roll her body to check right...

          The spymaster only saw the flash of movement a moment before a hand clapped over her mouth. She felt her left arm pinned against her, the dagger wrested expertly from her hand.  She saw the glint of her own steel in the moonlight, before she felt it pressed to her throat. Her pulse surged, heart pounding in her chest.  She forced down the panic; panicking would only get her killed _faster._   

          Leliana closed her eyes, focusing instead on her other senses, assessing her assailant.  Slightly taller than her, lithe muscles, the smell of…teak wood and leather.  Her eyes flew open, meeting blue ones she hadn’t known she had missed until that moment, the moonlight reflecting over them.

          “Why didn’t you tell me about Rainier, Spymaster?”  Trev arched a brow, silvery light dancing with shadows, accentuating the planes of the Marcher’s face.

          Leli arched a fine brow and then glanced down at the hand still covering her mouth and then back up.

          “Oh! Right,” she lowered her hand and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

          She didn’t move, didn’t speak.  Instead, she fixed the Free Marcher with a look, “I could have killed you, you know?  You could have been lying in a pool of your own blood on my floor.  Is that what you want?”

          “Only if you promise to do it _slowly..._ ”

           Leliana huffed, “You are-”

          “-impossible, so you keep saying.  Back to the question- why didn’t you tell me about Rainier?  Cullen said you found a report just ‘laying’ around...Why don’t I believe this?”  

          “Because you lack the _sense_ to take anything seriously?” She offered innocently.

          “You wound me, Spymaster.  I take many things seriously, except perhaps, a beautiful but squirly Orlesian bard who tries to tell me that she just _happened_ to have a very damning report about a _fake_ Warden and his pre-fake Warden existence.  Come now, Leli, we are both women of action...You knew! Why didn’t you tell me?”

          “I didn’t think it important.”

          Trev straightened, her easy-going grin gone.  “Didn’t think it important?  The Inquisition was harboring a murderer!  Did you stop to think what kind of repercussions that would have?”

          Leliana frowned a little.  She hadn’t honestly considered it.  Of course, she hadn’t planned on Rainier suddenly deciding to go _noble_ and confess to his crimes, “I- no.”

          Trevelyan held her gaze for a moment before sighing and moving off to relight the candles, “That’s not even the point…”

          “Then what is?”

          Warm candle light filled the room again, Trev stubbed out the punt and turned to her.

          “The fact that you didn’t _tell_ me.  I understand that you have your secrets, Spymaster… but there was a man who was capable of coup and murder within our walls.  You and the others _made_ me your Inquisitor.  You took the responsibility for all the souls within the walls of this keep and you placed them squarely on my shoulders.  How am I to do my job and keep our people safe if you are keeping secrets such as this because _you_ don’t think it is _important._  If you want my job - take it!  If you want to keep your _own_ secrets, fine.  But don’t keep _secrets_ that concern my _job_ from _me_.  Do we have an agreement?”

           “Yes, Inquisitor.”

           “Is there anything else you are keeping from me?”

 _I think I’m falling for you._  “No.”

           The _Inquisitor_ held her eyes for another moment before _Trevelyan’s_ grin returned, “I missed you, Leli.”

           She felt an answering smile tug at the corner of her lips.  Even in her reprimand, Trev had managed to maintain her decorum.  Gracefully and purposefully, separating their private life from their professional.  Keeping her feelings about _one_ far away from the _other_ .  It was endearing, it was comforting, it was incredibly attractive and it was the exact opposite of what Cousland had done… It was a most _welcomed_ difference.  Fixing the rogue with a smoldering look, she pushed herself off of the wall, swinging the door shut as she did.

            Leliana started forward, the swing in her hips a little deeper than usual,  “You said you missed me?”

            Coming close, she pressed herself ever so lightly against the Marcher.  Her undershirt, untied allowing for an unobstructed view of her breasts.  Trevelyan’s breath quickened.  She looked from soft lips that she wanted to nibble on to the Inquisitor’s now _hungry_ and shimmering eyes.  Grabbing her by the lapel, she pulled gently until her lips could brush against Trevelyan’s…

            “Then show me,” she whispered fiercely before laying claim to that inviting mouth.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Reader,
> 
> Again, I must apologize! Haha! It seems that life wants to keep me busy. Ah, it's not such a bad thing, I suppose. However! It means I now have to renegotiate some of my time. But! Never fear - I shan't leave you to your own devices for long!! ;) I do love playing with you...
> 
> With that said, I made this chapter an interlude because I needed a way to 'open' you up to some of the 'surprises' I have in store for you... Ah... Yes, it is a secret and I will never tell ;) But, please, believe the author when she says: 'I don't write these chapters for no reason. There is a purpose for my doing so - even if it isn't entirely apparent right off.' ... Hmm... curious, yet? :D
> 
> As always my friend! Please smile! Because you have no idea what it 'does' for me ;) 
> 
> Take care and be safe, until we meet again...
> 
> ~Bendithio


	31. Interlude: The Morning Before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello My Friend,
> 
> Please note the 'M' rating?.... Yes? Okay - just so you know that is there for a reason, one of those reasons being this chapter right here... It isn't graphic but it's there, so here is your 'warning'.

* * *

          She didn’t think it possible…

          ...But she was beginning to love mornings even more than she already did.  Of course, they paled in comparison to how much she _loved_ evenings, at least, when Trevelyan was around Skyhold and not running around all of the Maker’s creation.

          She lay quietly, her body draped over Trev’s, head pillowed comfortably on her chest.  She listened to the gentle, sturdy cadence of her heart.  Found comfort in the smooth rhythm of her breathing.  A small smile playing on the corner of her lips, she ran her hand over Trev’s stomach, enjoying the feel of the muscles there and finally settling her palm over an enticing hipbone, watching dark clouds form around the mountain peaks.

          After a few minutes, she felt Trevelyan take a deep breath, signaling her return to consciousness.  She smiled when she heard the hushed, throaty sigh that always followed and felt a soft, strong, warm hand fall on her shoulder and begin to lightly stroke her skin.

          “G’mornin’ Leli...how long have you been awake?” Trev asked, her voice a bit rough from sleep.

          She grinned, “Not long.”

          A light chuckle.  “I’m sure.  I thought you would be gone.”

          Leliana shrugged, “I figured I would stay.”

          Trev’s fingers halted, “Really?”

          “Is that so surprising? Are you displeased?” she asked, knowing the answers to both.

          “Surprising?  A bit.  Displeased? Never, Spymaster.”

          Leliana smiled, “Good.”

          “To which part?”

          “Both,” She turned her head to kiss the flesh there, letting her lips linger against the silky flesh of Trevelyan’s breast.  She felt the Inquisitor’s heartbeat pick up in tempo; she smiled against skin before returning to her position.

          “Indeed.”

          They laid there in contented silence for a few minutes.  Enjoying each other’s presence, finding comfort in each of the other’s company.  Finally, it was Leliana’s turn to sigh, “I do not want you to leave… today.”

          Her head rose with the Inquisitor’s answering sigh, “I don’t want go.  But you know better than anyone that the Venatori presence in the Wastes isn’t going to resolve itself.”

          “I know.  I just wish Cullen was a little more _useful,_ ” she huffed.  “He’s always been that way.  He’s managed to get in the middle of every crisis in Thedas for the past ten years and what does he do? He whines.”

          “I had been meaning to ask you if he had always been such a gimcrack commander?”

          “He hasn’t always been a commander, no.”

          The Inquisitor chuckled, “That is ever so _helpful._ You couldn’t have chosen a better leader and strategist than Cullen?”

          She laughed lightly, “We did.  We chose you.”

          “Ha! I fall out of the sky, make terrible decisions and everyone just keeps following me... I worry for the future of Thedas.”

          “Hush, you don’t make _terrible_ decisions.  Just- your decisions aren’t… _expected_ but they are _usually_ successful.  You decide things in ways that no one else would.  Which, I suppose, is the reason why we follow you.”

           A brief moment of silence fell between them.  Finally, Trev spoke.

          “You don’t _follow_ me, do you?”

          She heard a note of concern even though the Marcher tried to hide it.  

          “Are you wondering if I’m in your bed _only_ because you are the Inquisitor?” she teased, dragging her nails lightly over the hipbone.  She felt the muscles in Trevelyan’s body tense, the hip below her hand flexing and flaring.  The bard bit back a grin.

          “That’s not what I-!” Her sentence cut off when Leliana turned her head again, biting down firmly on the flesh she had earlier cosseted.  Letting go, she laved her tongue over the marred skin.

          “You were saying?” she coaxed coyly.

          “Maker…” Trev breathed, forcing herself to settle down.  “That’s not nice, Leli.”

          “ _Please!"_  she rolled her head up so she could catch her eyes, “You love it.”

          “Not as much as I love...other things,” Trevelyan replied evenly.  “But, that’s not what I meant.  What I meant was- you’re not just blindly following me… are you?”

          She heard it.  The note of self-doubt.  A very dangerous thing.  Doubt would led to hesitation, hesitation to delayed reaction and that would get her killed.  She thought about how to handle the issue.

          “Do you think that I do?” she asked gently, pushing herself up so that her head was next to Trevelyan’s on the pillow, their eyes meeting.

          She saw the worry now but the Marcher was fighting it, like she did everything else, that could only cause harm. “No.”

          Leli gently smiled drawing Trev’s eyes for a moment; a tactical maneuver to distract her from the crippling emotion, “Do you trust me?”

          “As much as one can trust a bard and a spymaster," she joked, dragging her eyes back up to Leliana’s.

          “Cassandra was right, you're _hilarious._ You know what I meant!” she thumped Trev’s chest playfully, “Do you trust _me_?”

          “With my life…” she replied somberly before adding in deflection, “You’re _my_ spymaster.  That’s kind of your job.  Unless you don’t think you can do it… in that case, Scout Harding has been showing exceptional promise.”

          She thumped her again, this time harder.

          “Keep it up and you can ask Scout Harding to keep you warm at night!  I highly doubt she will say no,” Leli huffed.

          “Don’t worry!  You’re the only _spymaster_ for me,” she mollified, covering Leli’s hand with her own before picking it up and kissing her palm.  She felt her own breath catch in her chest.  The Inquisitor returned it to it’s place with a smile, “Now, why do you ask?”

          All of Leli’s plans and arguments, points and counterpoints, logic and reasoning disappeared for the briefest of moments as she looked into Trev’s eyes.

          “I love you.”

          The words were out before they had even crossed her conscious mind. Again, for the briefest of moments, she contemplated bolting from the bed and diving buck naked off of the balcony.  Someone finding her bared and broken corpse would be preferable than to feel what she was feeling - shock, hope, mortification, hope again, fear, terror, panic, nausea...hope.  She cursed the _last_ one.

          Trevelyan’s eyes widened in surprise.  Or, shock… she couldn’t tell, her own clutched emotions blurring her perspective.  The Marcher opened then closed her mouth. Pressing her lips, she looked to the left, narrowing her eyes, staring off for a second.   Leliana thought her heart would explode.  Why had she been so stupid? She couldn’t take the words back.  A million different scenarios ran through her mind, each of them ending badly... Finally, Trevelyan looked back at her thoughtfully before a smile slowly ambled its way across her beautiful face, “And I you, Spymaster.’

          Just like that Leliana felt the darkness that had settled in long ago begin to ebb from her spirit.  She caught Trevelyan’s lips in her own, kissing her for all that she was worth.  Pouring her heart, and the words that she could not find, into it.  Her left hand wandered from the Marcher’s face, down her neck and over her clavicle.  She let her fingers lightly drift over her nipple, eliciting an esurient moan from Trev.  She pressed the advantage afforded her and deepened the exchanged, hand still moving lower... over the slope of a firm lower belly, her fingers finding their destination- sliding, gently tugging, caressing until she felt the rogue's muscles being to tauten.

          The Marcher broke away from the kiss her jaw tight, the muscles in her neck beginning to cord, “Leli- please.”

          The simple statement was a ghost of her time with Ophelia and Tartish.  Trevelyan wouldn’t be able to summit the peak of her pleasure without the spymaster’s permission.  It meant more to her than any softly whispered confession of love ever could.  Not that she would ever deny her, but the Nightingale couldn’t help the little thrill that ran up her spine at the _thought_.

          “Amant, venu pour moi,” she growled gently as she pushed her fingers deep inside the Inquisitor, curling them upward, catching the guttural cry of release in a heated kiss.  

           She reveled in the intoxicating sensation that the lean, muscular body of the most powerful woman in memorable history, writhing _under_ her touch, created.  When she felt Trevelyan begin her descent, she eased her lover back from bliss with gentle kisses and whispered terms of praise and love in Orlesian.  Afterwards, she settled back down into her spot on Trev's chest; a satisfied smile on her lips as she waited for her to recover her senses.  When the rogue lifted her right hand to push her hair back, Leliana noticed the glint of a metal on her forefinger.  

           “What’s that?” she asked casually, even though she was intensely focused on the new accessory.

           “This?” The Inquisitor held up her hand, revealing an intricate, silver Formari ring.  The band was weaved together in complex Marcher knots.  Something about it didn’t set right in her spirit.  “Vivienne gave it to me as a gift, when Bastien’s family came to visit.”

           The spymaster frowned, “Did she say what it was for?”

           “She said it used to be that the Enchanter’s of the Circle would have these rings made and enchanted for their closest friends and benefactors.  I’m going to assume I am one of those things.  Which one I am to her?  Of that I am not certain...”

           “I see,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving the ring.

           ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet again, dear reader...
> 
> *stretches* So... there you have it.... 
> 
> ..... I'll just leave you to it.... *grins wickedly*
> 
> Hope you have a wonderful! day! I hope I have 'contributed' something to you this evening (or morning, wherever you are at.) ... And if I have, well, you are welcome ;) 
> 
> Sláinte!
> 
> ~Bendithio


	32. Interlude: ...Everything Changed

* * *

_Sister Nightingale,_

_The Inquisitor was ambushed.  She is gravely injured and has not responded to healing magic or elixirs.  We are at Sahrnia in the Lion.  Trevelyan keeps asking for you.  Please, come at once._

_Harding_

          Using the routes she had established with her network, Leliana had reached the Sahrnia Camp in Emprise du Lion in little over a day, arriving just as the sun was setting and the _bitter_ cold of night was snaking her fingers over the land.

          She noted that the guard had been doubled.  Obviously, Harding’s call.  She dismounted from her horse before the animal even had a chance to stop.

          “Where is the Inquisitor?” she demanded.

          The soldier, terrified at the spymaster’s sudden appearance, pointed towards a tent in the middle of the camp, “S-she’s in there, Sister-”

          Leliana stalked away before the poor man could even finish. The guards between her and her goal, scrambled out of the way.  

          “Nightinga-”

          “Not now, Varric.  I will _talk_ to _you_ later…” The Kirkwallian took an unconscious step back as the Left Hand forged past him.

          The distinctive metallic aroma of blood assailed her the moment she pushed back the heavy billet material.  The sheer _overpowering_ pungency would have been enough to cause her to gag but knowing _whose_ blood it was made her want to vomit.  The space was warm, thanks to a calefactor, but the heat was doing nothing for the air of injury.  Turning her head, her heart clutched tightly...

          Trevelyan lay pale and motionless on a blood soaked cot.  The bandages around her chest, abdomen and left forearm had been wrapped with great care and expertise but they were beginning to be soaked through.

          Harding sat next to the Inquisitor’s bedside.  One hand resting lightly on the Marcher’s shoulder.  She knew that the scout was aware of her presence but she made no move to acknowledge the spymaster.  Instead she continued to simply sit, eyes resting on the torpid face of Trevelyan.  

          “What happened?” she asked softly, even though her spirit within her _raged_ at whoever had done this thing.   _They will pay with their lives._

          Harding let out a sigh and stood.  She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days but her eyes were still as alert as ever.  Catching Leliana’s gaze, she jerked her head in the direction of the tent flap as she walked past the spymaster en route to the exit.  Torn, she looked back at her Inquisitor.  There was little chance that Trevelyan would wake up in the next few minutes or even _hours_... if she woke up at all.

 _Maker, if you take her…_ she began but trailed off, not willing to risk a challenge when the life of the woman she loved was on the line.  Instead, with a long look back towards the Marcher, she followed the scout outside and fell into step with the dwarf as she walked up the hill towards the command tent.

         “The Inquisitor was ambushed a few clicks west of here.  A large group of Red Templars encircled them as they passed through the Marée Rouge pass.  From the number of corpses, they were heavily outnumbered.  We arrived in time to...” Harding closed her eyes and shook her head.  An attempt to rid herself of the memory.  “I- we- saw the Inquisitor go down.”

          Anger and irrational jealousy erupted into her chest even as she held her tongue, wanting to hear the rest of the story before she spoke.

          “My team and I joined the fray towards the end.  Trevelyan and Bull had nearly finished them but Trev… I mean the Inquisitor was having trouble chasing down two Shadows.  I couldn’t even really follow the battle.  The Inquisitor was disappearing as quickly as the Shadows were until one…” Again, she trailed off.  Leliana could see that Harding was having a much more difficult time than usual giving her report.

          “Until one of them decided to go after Dorian.  I’ve never seen one human move so quickly.  Trev was on the attacker in a heartbeat but… it was a trap.  The second moved in and…”  Harding stopped and looked up at the spymaster.  “He ran her through from behind.  I watched as his arm...blade?... came clean through her.”

          It took all that Leli had to not retch at the words and the subsequent visual.  She instead focused on the boiling vitriol inside of her soul.

          “I dropped him with an arrow but…”  Leliana noticed for the first time _ever_  she sawtears beginning to pool in the scout’s eyes, “It was too late.   _I_ was too late.  If only I had left sooner after I got the report…”

         “What report?”  Leliana ground out, her anger finally overtaking her at the words.  

 _Who_ did Harding think she was?   _What_ did she think she was doing? _When_ did this happen? _Why_ was she acting outside of Leliana’s command? _How_ was she privy to this information?  

          Harding hesitated only for a moment before catching the spymaster’s penetrating look.  She jerked her head, again, towards the command tent before entering, leaving Leli standing alone, clenching and unclenching her fists before following.

          She was ready to rip into the dwarf as she entered but stopped short when her eyes fell on Harding holding a rolled parchment in her hand, “We took out a Knight-Commander near the Exalted Plains. _This_ was on him.”

          Her eyes never left Harding’s as she reached out and took the proffered message.  Slowly- the two women locked in a silent battle of wills and stares-she unrolled it and read its contents.  Somehow, the Red Templars had gotten wind of the Inquisitor’s plans to travel to the Hissing Wastes.  The implications were troubling indeed.

          “Someone had to leak this information,” the Nightingale muttered.

          Harding nodded, “That’s what I think.”

          Leli looked up from the missive, pinning the dwarf with a hard look, “How do you know all of this?  How are you so close to Trevelyan that you seem to be wherever trouble finds her?  What is your _game_ , hm?”

          Harding looked shocked and not slightly offended.  “Game?  I think you are mistaken Sister.  You are the only one who has played the _Game_ .  I’m here because I believe in Trevelyan.  I believe _she_ will save us.  I have faith.  Can you say the same?”

          “You have an insipid tongue, Dwarf.”

          “And you have a duplicitous heart, Spymaster.”

          “I do _not_ have a _duplicitous_ heart,” she replied, kicking herself even as she said the words.  

          “Your nature is duplicitous.  There is a saying amongst my people.  ‘ _As is the rock, so goes the stone.’_  You act out of the nature of your _heart._ ”

          She opened her mouth to reply but nothing came forth.  Harding’s hazel eyes held her tightly, challenging her.  For the first time, in a _long_ time, the Bard had no words.

          “Given what you _mean_ to Trevelyan, one would think that _you_ of all people, would be grateful someone is watching out for her.  But, I can see the problem if you do _not_ feel the same way.”

          “You know nothing of how I feel.”

          “Don’t I?”

          It was then that her suspicions were confirmed.  Harding felt much more than loyalty to the Inquisitor.  Her retort was cut short, seeing the defiance in the dwarf’s eyes.  She realized that Harding would not back down.  The Scout was _not_ scared of her.  The Nightingale retreated and Leli was left alone.

          Surprisingly, the Scout’s face softened when Leli’s did.

          “I mean no offense and it isn’t my place to know what is between you and Trev- the Inquisitor- but I have to tell you _Nightingale_ … if you hurt her?  You won’t live long enough to run.”

          With that, Harding pushed purposefully past the Nightingale, leaving Leliana alone with her words and the truth.

          ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> This is the end of the 'interludes' ... let's see what the future holds, shall we?
> 
> Until later,
> 
> ~Bendithio


	33. Enchanted Treachery

* * *

          Leliana rode behind the wagon carrying Trevelyan’s near lifeless body.

          Even though the healer at the Sahrnia Camp had recommended against it, there was no way she was going to simply sit beside her lover’s bedside as she slowly bled out.  Perhaps there was nothing to be done for Trev in Emprise du Lion but that wasn’t the last of her options.  She had her suspicions.  She would find, prove and _end_ the reason for the Marcher’s condition even if it meant tearing down heaven itself.

          Glancing to her left, she saw that Harding was dividing her time between watching the wagon carefully and glancing about- looking out for danger.  She sighed.  Since the Scout had confronted her - the Spymaster found herself beginning to respect the dwarf.  More so than any of her other agents.  No one, except Trevelyan, had confronted her in years.

          She admired it.  

                 She respected it.  

                          She needed it.

         “Scout Harding,” she said, her eyes never moving from the wagon.

         “Yes?”

         “You’ve managed to save the Inquisitor at least twice now,” she glanced sideways, the dwarf meeting her gaze before returning it back to the wagon.  “How did you do it?”

         Harding shrugged, “I have my ways to care for those that I care about.”

         The Spymaster pursed her lips.  It wasn’t the answer she was expecting.  Most people would have taken the praise and exposed their sources.  Harding… well, Harding was becoming more surprising by the day.

         “Indeed.”

         It was Harding’s turn to glance at her, “Why do you ask?”

         “Because, I feel I owe you an apology.”

         “You don’t Sis-”

         “-I _do_.  Do not argue with me,” she retorted.  “I have underestimated you and your skills.  This is not something I will let pass by.”

         A silence fell between them.  After a moment, mind made up, the Spymaster continued: “I want you as my Second.”

         Harding’s hazel eyes met hers.  There was a healthy distrust there but more importantly; a look of surprise and pride.  A long silent moment spanned between them.

         Two women- both strong, both passionate, both ready to die for that which they believed in and at that moment, their hope was in Trevelyan.

        “I accept,” she said simply.

        Leliana nodded once, “Very good.”

        For a minute only the sound of creaking of wagon tires and the occasional snort of a horse could be heard.

       “Harding?”

       “Yes?”

       “A traitor trespasses in our midst.*

       ***

       Harding had rode ahead to spread the news of Trevelyan’s condition to Skyhold.  The Nightingale was betting on the fact that the would-be murder was not expecting the Inquisitor to still be alive.  While it tore at her heart to use Trevelyan as bait, she knew of no other way to lure out the traducer in their thick.   _Please forgive me, Evey._

       She heard the bells tolling their return, long and mournful, as they rode across the bridge towards the keep.  Coming through the latticed gate, she noticed the residents of Skyhold had lined to meet them, the scout having done her job well.

       “What happened?” Cassandra demanded, meeting Leliana and her mount.

       “I have no idea,” she replied, dismounting, letting the stable hand take her reins.

       “Something must have happened!”

       “I do not _know_ what you are speaking of,” Leliana said purposefully, meeting her partner in the eye, a signal that only the two Hands of the Divine understood.  

       She started towards the rookery, her eyes landing for a moment on Trev as the runners took her to the infirmary.  Cassandra looked from Leliana to the Inquisitor and back again, her eyes flaring in realization.

       “Leliana, what are you _thinking_?” Cassandra hissed, unable to wait until the safety of walls could encircle them.

       The Bard said nothing, continuing purposefully towards her retreat.   She sensed Cassandra keeping up with her more than she actually saw it.

       “Leli,” Cassandra began again as they started up the stairs, “What’s going on?  What are you doing?   _Trevelyan_ ... Are you out of your _mind_?”

       “No.  I am not.”  She stopped in her tracks and spun about, “ _And_ it is none of your business.  We have more important matters to worry about.  There is a snake in the garden.”

       Leliana reached the top of the stairs, her eyes instantly falling on Harding who stood beside a window, apparently having watched the whole of the return unfold.  The scout turned her head as the two Hands crested the stairs.

       “Did you get a hold of Hatcher?”  Leliana asked without formalities.

       “I did.  She’s head towards what remains of the Ostwick Circle.  She said she would send word as soon as she arrived.”

       “Ostwick Circle?” Cassandra repeated.  “Why in the Maker’s name are you sending her there?”

       “Because, that’s where Vivienne got the ring,” Leliana replied evenly.

       “Vivie- the Imperial Enchanter? What in Maker’s name are you going on about Leliana?”

       The Nightingale finally whipped around her, cold eyes meeting Cassandra’s.  

       “You want to know, hm?.... _EVERYONE OUT!”_ she bellowed the command.

       Within seconds, the rookery was empty, even some of the younger birds had taken flight.  She held the Seeker’s gaze for a moment longer, gauging, judging the warrior’s reaction.  Much to her credit, Cassandra didn’t even so much as flinch.  She realized, not for the first time, that Dorothea had chosen them for _each_ _other_.  They were equal opposites, neither one weaker than the other.

       “I suspect that _Madame_ de Fer has _something_ to do with the Inquisitor’s condition.  However, I do not suspect she was the reason behind the ambush.”

       Confusion finally shone its way on to the Seeker’s face, “Condition.. _ambush_?  Maker’s breath Leliana!  Speak sense!”

       Leliana held her leveled gaze for a moment longer, her fine sharpened jaw working against all the words and vitriol rising in her throat before turning and striding towards her desk.  Picking up the missive she had received from Harding she held it out to Cassandra.  The Right Hand took it and read it.  She looked up at Leli, the confusion still present but now it was coloured with anger and concern.

       “This is true?” she asked, even though the question was obvious and rhetorical.

       She nodded, “Yes.”

       “Then how is it that your suspicions have fallen on the Imperial Enchanter?”

       “Because of the ring she gave to Trevelyan,” Leliana replied evenly, turning on her heel and walking towards a large locked chest that contained her most valuable books.

       “Ring?..”

       “Yes.  A Formari ring that she had commissioned and enchanted.”

       “How do you-” Cassandra began but was silenced by a look tossed over the Spymaster’s shoulder, “Nevermind.”

       Cassandra watched as Leliana opened the chest, removing a few books at a time, checking the bindings and cover, looking for a specific tome.  The Seeker took a deep breath and tried a different tactic.

       “Let’s say for a moment that you are correct-”

       “-And I am,” she interjected confidently.

       “-What do you plan to do about it?  How will you go about proving it?  The Imperial Enchanter has many friends both in and outside of the Court and _your_ Game.  If you are wrong-”

       “-And I am not..”

       “You could create a _political_ nightmare for both yourself and the Inquisition.”

       Finally finding the book in which she was searching for she laid all the others back inside the heavy, solid chest and walked back towards her workspace, holding the leather bound volume upright in her hand.

       “If _I am_ right.  This book should help us pinpoint the nature of the enchantment...well, curse…” she dropped the book down on the table before leaning forward, placing her hands on either side of it, fixing the Seeker with a look, “Also?  If _I am_ right, the Imperial Enchanter will try to take the ring back.”

       “If the ring is the problem, why have you _not_ removed it yet?”

       She grit her teeth.  A recent memory bringing back the maddening frustration of her, and nearly _everyone_ else, who tried attempts at removing the deceptively simple and aesthetically pleasing band, “I’ve tried.”

       Cassandra’s eyes went wide not needing further explanation. The terse response confirming Leliana’s suspicions to her more so than any admission of guilt ever could.  She looked into the woman’s face and saw only cold determination.  

       “What is your plan?” the Seeker asked.

       “My plan?” Her reply was deceiving innocent in its tone.

       Cassandra nodded slowly, waiting for the response that was sure to come from the galled bard.  The Seeker wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t place a watch over the Imperial Enchanter; not so much because of what the mage might do but more so because of what the Nightingale might do.

       “My plan, my dear Cassandra, is to make that _bitch_ pay.”

        ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear Reader,
> 
> I am sorry I am so late with this update. It has been a long few days. I do appreciate your patience and I hope to get back on a schedule (sleep included) soon. Maybe I should buy a new bed?... It's a thought.
> 
> Anyhow - I also have to apologize for the brevity. I write so much and so many different things - I think my brain is actually trying to condense everything I write! Haha! Ah, well, hopefully it will sort itself out. If not *shrugs* I don't know.
> 
> With that said - I hope you are well and have a marvelous day/night wherever you are at. 
> 
> Be safe, my friend.
> 
> ~Bendithio


	34. Of Memories

* * *

          Never had she felt so conflicted concerning mages and magic.

         She was sitting behind the Inquisitor’s desk, boots propped up in a fashion much like Trevelyan did when she was forced to attend to the more mundane matters of her position.  A small smile ghosting over her face at a memory-

_“Josephine is going to kill you if she ever sees you doing that, you know.”_

_“ **Josephine** can take it out of my wages…” Trevelyan replied off-handedly.  After a moment, she lifted her head from the document she had been reading, a puzzled look on her face.  “Do _ **_I_ ** _have wages?  I don’t remember if anyone ever said if I got paid...”_

 _The Rogue looked at her, “Do_ **_you_ ** _get paid?”_

_A modest smile graced her lips, “Of course, Inquisitor.  You pay me quite handsomely, I might add.”_

_“_ **_I_ ** _pay_ **_you_ ** _?”_

_Leliana nodded, biting back a smile at the myriad of conflicting expressions on Trevelyan’s face.  Happiness, confusion, worry, ethical concern, arousal, back to ethical concern._

_“How does that… I mean, how is it that I am paying you, when I didn’t even know you got paid.”_

_“A good portion of the Inquisition’s income is_ **_funded_ ** _and those donations are made to the_ **_Herald of Andraste_ ** _which - for better or worse - is how most people see you,” she said matter-of-factly, before finally letting the mischievous smirk tug at the corner of her lip, “But I know how wicked you can be.”_

          A soft curse pulled her out of her revery.  She blinked, focusing on Grand Enchanter Fiona.

          The elf had finally lowered her hands from where she had kept them hovered for the past hour, weaving healing magicks over the Inquisitor.  The former warden passed a hand over her brow in fatigue and flexed her fingers before looking towards the Spymaster.

         "I think that is as much as any magic can do.  The rest is in the Maker’s hand,” she paused. “There is something you need to see, Sister.”

         “What is it?” Leli asked, dropping her feet off of the desk and moving to join the mage.

          Fiona sighed, looking at the Spymaster pensively.  She waited until Leliana was beside her before pulling back the light sheet that covered the Marcher, “..This.”

          Peering down, she saw that the denticulate lesion -the size of a fist- was mended but _distinctive_ and disturbing. Red tendrils, the same colour as the wound, had begun spiralling outward from the site.  The whole of it looking like a tattooed, twisted mockery of the Inquisition’s emblem.  She felt as though she had swallowed a cannonball.  She knew what it meant but waited for Fiona to say the words her mind refused to believe.

         “I was hoping that perhaps she would have beaten the odds but I think because of how long it took for her to be healed and whatever caused the aberration… I’m sorry Sister but the infection has taken hold and is spreading…”

          Leliana’s brain shut out the words, her eyes instead roving to the unmarred skin of Trevelyan’s sculpted chest and unpretentious but perfect breasts.  She focused on the shallow rise and fall.  The movement reminding her that hope was not lost before dragging her into another memory…

_The back of Trev’s legs hit the wood of the war table at the same moment she ripped open the Marcher’s shirt, buttons flying in every direction.  Crushing her lips to Trevelyan’s as her hands went to the Rogue’s waist.  She grazed her palms up the hewed flesh, dragging them slowly over stiffening nipples before running up over Trevelyan’s chest and tangling her hands in dark luxurious locks._

_“Leli?” Trev murmured pulling back slightly, lips moving against hers._

_“Yes?”_

_“What if...mm,” she moaned when Leliana captured that succulent bottom lip with her own and nipped playfully._

_“What if...?” she echoed, pushing back on Trevelyan’s shoulders, indicating where she wanted her to go, before climbing on top of the Marcher’s lap._

_“What if Josephine, or even worse_ **_Cullen_** _, comes in?” the rogue finally managed to ask._

_She laughed,  “Then they will see your perfect breasts.  Josephine would blush but secretly,” she winked, wrapping her legs around thin, muscled hips. “She would oogle you for as long as she could without getting in trouble.  And Cullen? He would turn fifty shades of red before running away.”_

_Leliana dipped her head claiming another sensual kiss, draping her arms around Trev’s neck._

_“I’m not worried about anyone seeing my breasts, Leli.  I’m more concerned they’ll-”_

_“-See me completely naked, head thrown back in ecstasy as the Herald of Andraste wantonly ravishes_ **_me_ ** _, the Left Hand of the Divine, on the Inquisition’s war table?” her lips curled back in a wicked grin, eyes dancing._

_Her words had the desired effect; Trev’s eyes glazed at the visual, her brain being wiped clean by the dirty thought...she nodded mutely._

_“Let them,” the Bard growled._

_Grabbing a hold of the Inquisitor’s wrist, she steadied the strong, dexterous hand before dropping and rolling her hips as she took Trevelyan deeply inside with an acutely appreciative moan._

     “...I’m afraid there is little to be done.”

     “That isn’t true,” she whispered.

      Fiona looked at her, brow furrowed in confusion, “I assure you it is.”

     “And _I_ _say_ it isn’t,” the Nightingale retorted whipping her head around, _staring_ at the rebel mage leader. “There is _always_ another way.”

     “Spoken, truly, like a woman after my own heart,” Morrigan’s rich timbre filled the room.  

      The Grand Enchanter took the opportunity to slip from the situation, eager to be away from the Nightingale’s wrath.

     “Morrigan, what are you doing here?”

     “I came to check on _your_ Inquisitor,” she replied, walking towards the bed.  “Tell me, Bard, how is she?”

     “The news isn't good, I’m afraid.”

     “Is it ever?” Morrigan asked her tone frustratingly blithe.  “What else has befallen the poor soul?”

      Leliana looked down at her lover, “A red lyrium infection and she has yet to awaken.”

      The shapeshifter hummed folding one arm across her body, resting the elbow of the other on it; a fist laid against her chin, “That does sound grievous indeed, however, it isn’t without remedy…”

      It was only because of years in the Game that Leliana’s mouth didn’t fall open.  While she wanted to gawk in abject disbelief at the witch, she contained herself and simply said, “Oh?”

      Morrigan nodded, “Yes.  But it won’t matter if Trevelyan never wakes up and, even if she does, the sickness will simply take her faster.”

      Her heart clenched in her chest.  It was all she could do not to throttle the infuriating woman.  However, the witch’s tone was such that it suggested she had a plan for this as well.  Leliana couldn’t help but feel a small inkling of respect for the former apostate.  She remained silent and simply looked at the enchantress.  

      Morrigan’s unsettling gold eyes flicked towards her catching her gaze and holding it, “A gift, Spymaster.”

      She let an unassuming scrap of leather (with what appeared to be an orange tuft of fur) drop from her palm and dangle from her fingers, “This is _Kitty’s Collar_.  It is a powerful amulet that will slow the effects of the infection until we have a cure for Trevelyan.”

      Leli reached out to take the soft leather but hesitated, her fingers stopping just short, “Where did it come from?”

     “A desire demon.”

      Her hesitation spanned into another moment.

     “Come now, songstress.  You aren’t going to let a loosely constructed sense of unsubstantiated moral beliefs dictate _another_ life, are you?”

      Leliana frowned defiantly and snatched the dangling scrap, “No.”

      She waited for some sort of snarky, gloating response from the witch but when none came, she looked back up into gold, kind eyes.   

     “I’m glad to see that Trevelyan rubbed _off_ on _you_ more than _Cousland_ ” she winked and turning on her heel, she left.

      Leliana stared down at the charm in her hand. Her mouth opened once then closed again as she tried to sort how _what_ just happened.  The collar was much too small for Trev to wear around her neck, (although the thought still managed to be strangely arousing despite the circumstances) she decided on the right wrist.

      Sitting down on the mattress beside the Marcher, she gently picked up the cooled appendage and tied the leather strip securely to Trevelyan.. Thinking about the last time she had done such a thing and wondering how long it would take for the-

      The Inquisitor nearly came up off the mattress as she struggled with a painful gasp of breath.  Leli caught her by the shoulders, gently pushing back down.

     “ _Ssh_... Chut, mon amour,” she soothed.

      Trevelyan’s eyes rolled: confusion, panic, pain and finally, recognition.  She worked her mouth as if trying to speak but only ended up managing an ‘ _oooww!’_ before collapsing into the bed.  Her ragged breathing beginning to sound almost normal as the amulet’s magic took effect.  After another minute, Trev was _recovered_ enough to try and speak again.

     “Holy Maker... _everything_ hurts! What happened? How did I get back here?” she fired off the statements and questions, one after another, very true to her form.

      For the first time since Harding’s message had arrived, she smiled.  Tears of relief sprung to the corners of her eyes.  Shaking her head that she didn’t want to discuss it at that moment, she leaned down, placing a slow, overdue ‘ _w_ _elcome home’_  kiss on her beloved’s lips.

      ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> Haha! I know I keep apologizing for how long the updates are taking and then every time that I do that... The updates take longer. See, you should never challenge fate - she likes to laugh at you. So, I will not apologize this time. I will simply suggest that I happen to be very busy at the moment. You know with 'things' and 'stuff' to do. It's very important the 'things' but not nearly as important as the 'stuff'. :)
> 
> With that said, here is this and I will bid you adieu until I see you again...
> 
> Go safely,
> 
> ~Bendithio


	35. Of Lessons Not Learned

* * *

 

          “You are absolutely positive this is true?”

          “I am _sure_. Not, _positive_.  At least, as sure as one can be in such matters.”

           Leliana looked at Hatcher for a long moment.  The elf showed no signs of agitation.  Her demeanor was confident, her posture poised- both indications that the agent was secure in her discoveries.   The Spymaster drew in a long breath to calm her own nerves, Hatcher would never know that her mistress was beside herself in anger and worry.

          “Very good.  Thank you, Hatcher.  Stay around Skyhold for a few more days before you return to Caer Bronach, yes?  I might need you again.”

          “As you wish, Lady Nightingale,” the agent inclined her head before quietly taking her leave.

           Leliana looked down at the dossier Hatcher had provided.  Her report was troubling, more than troubling… It was disturbing.  She leafed through the documents, her thoughts swirling too much for her to concentrate at the moment, until one caught her eye.  It was a note that Hatcher mentioned would be of some particular interest to her.

_Nightingale,_

_Is that what they are calling you, kitten?  Only you could pull off deadly and cute.  There is some scuttlebutt that I think you would find_ **_very_ ** _interesting.  I would love to chat.  Perhaps, like we did in the grand ol’ days of yore?  That would certainly loosen my lips.   Send word and I will gladly meet with you._

_Yours in sin, kitten -_

_Isabela_

          She sighed at the words used to close the message, remembering the evening she and Cousland had spent in the pirate queen’s cabin aboard the _Siren’s Call_ .  A warm echo of pleasure snaked its way down her spine at a particular memory involving Leliana pressing herself against Cousland’s body as the Warden kissed her neck, hands roaming over her breasts, rolling and tugging her nipples as Isabela torturously, _expertly_ explored her in the most intimate of manners.

          She closed her eyes, shaking her head to clear her mind of the distracting nostalgia.  Only to have it replaced by another one - this one of the knowing smile and enticing look upon Isabela’s face when she had seen Leliana in Kirkwall.   _Mon dieu!_

          Eyes still closed, she balanced the wisdom and the folly in sending for the ‘ _Queen of the Eastern Seas’._ She wasn’t thrilled with the idea of _possibly_ having to explain the pirate’s overly familiar behavior to the Inquisitor.  She let the breath out slowly, _praying_ that Trevelyan wasn’t the jealous type.  

          In fact, she prayed that with any luck - the Inquisitor would be _far_ away from Skyhold when the swashbuckling, hedonist arrived.

          ***

        “Songstress.  Explain to me why the air around Skyhold suddenly smells like a salty trollop.”

         Leliana looked up from the network map, surprised at Morrigan’s sudden and very unexpected appearance in the rookery.

        “Salty trollop? What are you-”

        “Imagine my surprise, spymaster, as I am walking through the garden enjoying the natural beauty and wonder that nature has to offer when- lo and behold!  What should I see?  Why, a Rivaini streetwalker dressed as a pirate.  I’m assuming you know _something_ about this?”

         Leliana almost laughed at the look on Morrigan’s face.  The witch detested the pirate and the pirate simply did not care.  It was good to see that some things _truly_ didn’t change.

        “I haven’t the slightest clue _what_ or _who_ you are talking about, Morrigan.”

         Golden eyes narrowed, “She said she was looking for you.”

 _Merde._  

         She sighed, “That sounds like Isabela.  No decorum.  No tact.  No _subtlety._ ”

         The witch drew her head back, tilting her chin upwards as she folded her arms, “So you _do_ know about this.”

        “I am the Inquisition’s spymaster.  Of course I know about it,” she mirrored Morrigan’s position.

        “And yet she is still here.  Have you learned nothing? That _woman_ is trouble.”

         Leliana narrowed her eyes as Morrigan’s words and apparent unease at Isabela’s presence had moved into the round of suspect.  Of course, the spymaster had become suspicious of nearly everyone save the Right Hand and Josie since Vivienne’s duplicitous actions and Trev’s subsequent near _death by ambush,_ courtesy of a traitor in their midst.

        “What do you know?” the Nightingale asked slowly.

         Morrigan’s face fell into a look of bewilderment, “Know?  What do _I_ know? What you don’t seem to _know_ is- where that woman goes _chaos_ follows.  She’s in Denerim and there is nearly a civil war in the _midst_ of a blight.  She is in Kirkwall and the Qun attacks in the _midst_ of an uprising at the Chantry and Circle there.  Would you care to wager what poorly timed, unfortunate event shall befall us _now_ that she is _here_?”

         Leliana said nothing.  Hawke had filled her in on the highlights of Isabela’s life since last the two had spoke.  She couldn’t counter the witch’s argument but that didn’t mean that she had to _support_ her either.  

        “Very well.  I will see what she wants and have her on her way.”

        “I would suggest you skip the first part and just move on to the final phase of your plan.”

         She finally laughed, “Oh, come now Morrigan.  She’s not _that_ bad.”

         The witch said nothing, simply raised her brow once more in a skeptical yet somehow cynical look before turning on her heel and retreating down the rookery steps.  

          ***

          She found Isabela in Trev’s private reserve.

         “There is a tavern, you know?  A very nice one.  And the tender, Cabot? He has a respectable selection,” she said, trying to keep the ire from her voice.

         “I’m sure he does, kitten.  But,” Isabela picked up a dusty bottle from a shelf and blew the dust off, “I am an _admiral_ now so- only the _best_ and it only figures that a noble from House Trevelyan would have- only the _best._ ”

         “The Inquisitor tends to _find_ these bottle on her journeys.  She doesn’t necessarily _buy_ them.  Although, I wish she would.  It would have saved my poor palate _countless_ times,” she replied, tucking her hands behind the small of her back and leaning against the doorframe.

         “I can only imagine with names like-” she shook her head as she read the label, “ _Dragon Piss."_

         “I think that one might actually be labelled correctly,” she muttered, remembering the smell when Trevelyan opened it.

          A distasteful look passed over the pirate’s face, she replaced the bottle.  “The tavern is starting to sound a bit more appealing.  However, it’s not quite the atmosphere I was hoping for.  You see, kitten, what I have to say is very _delicate_ in nature and _delicate_ things should be done in an _intimate_ manner.”

          Leliana waited for the duelist to continue.  Isabela’s gaze swept the bottles one more time before landing on her. Her smile was as seductive as ever.  

         “I don’t suppose _you_ have your own collection… maybe in your room?”

          She rolled her eyes, “You haven’t changed at all.”

          A cat like smile pounced on her features, “No kitten, I haven’t.  I wonder...have you?”

         “You’re incredible,” she droned.

          Bela winked, “Thanks for noticing.”

          She sighed and pushed herself off of the wall, “If _you_ must drink, come along with me.”

         “It’s not that _I_ must drink, _we_ must drink… so, by all means!  Lead the way.  I would _follow_ you _anywhere_.”

          Leliana choked back a groan, wondering if perhaps Morrigan hadn’t been right.  She immediately disregarded the thought.  Nothing had gone wrong.  Nothing would go wrong.  Her one concern when it came to Bela was exploring a lost temple in Dirthamen at the moment.  Far, _far_ away from the Rivaini and her many _charms._

          ***

         “She _ate_ one of your ravens?”

           Leliana giggled, “Well, I don’t know if she actually _ate_ it but Cassandra refuses to talk about it.  So, I’m going to go with the assumption she _did._ ”

           Bela laughed and shook her head, “That certainly doesn’t sound like any Trevelyan I know.”

 _Finally_.  Leliana set the second bottle of a recherché Antivan red aside and uncorked a lusciously sweet Sauternes.  She was already starting to feel the flush of the wine in her skin and a warm haze was starting to wrap itself about her mind.

          “Know many Trevelyans, do you?”

          “As of late?” Bela lifted her chin contemplation before dropping it again, “Quite a few, actually.  That’s the reason I came to speak with you, _Sister._ ”

           She winked and tilted her glass towards the bottle, “Be a dear would you?”

           Leliana obliged, her senses (thanks to the wine) only slightly offended by pouring a perfect white into a glass tainted with red.  Bela, of course, did not care one wit and settled back in her chair as she raised the glass to perfectly pouted lips.

          “Oh!” she exclaimed after the first sip, “That is _heavenly!_   Now where was I… yes, that’s right- House Trevelyan.”

           She took a deep drink, nearly emptying the glass and set it down on the table, “It would seem, kitten, that House Trevelyan has started something of a political coup in Ostwick.  Backed by supporters from Antiva, Rivaini _and_ Tevinter.”

          “A political coup? To what end?”

          “Now that _is_ a good question.  But a logical assumption would be they aim to have a Teryn Trevelyan. Word has it, kitten, that they’ve consolidated the Circle at Ostwick under their banner.  House Trevelyan is nothing if not _devout_.  Many people are taking this as a _sign_ that Andraste has laid her favor upon the family.  You and I both know how dangerous this is.”

           Things started to fall into place.  The sudden uptake in accusations of the Inquisitor being a heretic. The increasing rebellion and vitriol in certain cloisters. The increased number assassination attempts on Trevelyan.  She now wondered if the Imperial Enchanter had even _known_ about the enchantment or if she had unwittingly been made a pawn in a deadly Free March Intrigue, the likes of which could rival even the greatest moments of the Game.  If so, Trev was in danger not only from those who sought her dead but also those who sought to end the political ambitions of her family.

          “That is indeed dangerous.  Thank you for telling me, Bela.”

          “Now that the business is out of the way, whaddya say we move onto _pleasure._ ”

            Leliana smiled tightly, “I’m sorry, but no.”

           “I’m hurt... not even for old times sake?”

           “I’m afraid not _Admiral_ ,” she sighed lightly.

           “Of course, it is getting late.  If you’ll excuse me, I have to go find where your Ambassador put me for the night,” the pirate grinned and stood gracefully despite having drunk at least a bottle and a half to herself.

            Bela headed for the door, Leliana followed closed behind catching it as her guest flung it open and stepped out before stopping in her tracks.

           “There is one more thing…”

           “Yes?”

            The pirate queen spun about on her heels. Catching Leli first with a look, and then with both of her hands, kissing the spymaster soundly.  Between wine and shock, the bard froze.  She didn’t return the kiss but neither did she push Isabela away.  After what _seemed_ like an eternity, the duelist pulled back.

           “Mm, just as sweet as I remember,” her eyes danced over Leliana’s features.  “I couldn’t resist.  I hope you don’t mind.”

           “That’s not her-  _‘I mind’-_ face, I can assure you.”

            Trevelyan’s mellow timbre cut straight through the haze.  Leliana’s eyes closed and her chin dropped.

            Isabela looked between Spymaster and the Inquisitor and then back, “Again, kitten?  You go for the hero,  _again?_  Didn’t you learn anything the _first_ time?”

           “No, apparently not,” she quietly acquiesced.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> It has been soo long... I have missed you. :) Be patient, mon ami - I will come back to regular updates soon. I hope at least. Until then - be good - but not too good.
> 
> Slàinte,
> 
> ~Bendithio


	36. Ghosts of Mistresses Past

* * *

 

          Josie looked relaxed...

                          ... too relaxed.

          Leliana studied her long time friend from a chair in her office.  There was a  _ glow _ about the Antivan.  The kind of glow that one only got when they were being  _ entertained. _  Her usual carefully coiffed style was slightly messier than normal.  And even though she was as dutiful as ever in her work, the Ambassador was  _ humming. _  She beat down a smirk and feigned attention on the report in her hand. 

          “Josie?”

          “Hm?”  The eldest Montilyet didn’t look up.

          “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

           Finally, she looked up, distracted.  “Tell you?”

          “Yes.”

          “About?” she  asked bewildered.

           Leli arched a brow, “About what, or better put,  _ who _ ... you have been doing at night.”

           She had the decency to look appalled.

          “Oh don’t play offended, Josie!” A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, “You were never very good at it.”

           The Ambassador’s aghastment dissolved into a school maid’s blush, “Who do you think?”

          “I knew it!” she exclaimed, slapping the armrest, “Is that the reason she hasn’t left yet?”

          “Perhaps,” Josie blushed then recovered, clearing her throat lightly. “However, she has offered her help to the Inquisition.  She just has yet to take it up with the Inquisitor…”

           The Antivan trailed off grimacing a little, “How  _ is _ Trevelyan feeling about Isabela these days?”

           Leliana snorted, “She’s fine.”

          “Really?”

           She nodded, “Turns out that our good Inquisitor isn’t the jealous sort.  In fact, I’m pretty sure she wanted details but didn’t know if asking someone to recount a sexual encounter with a Rivaini pirate and their dead lover was appropriate or not.”

          “Is it?”

          “Of course it is,”she replied as if it were common knowledge.

           Josephine laughed and shook her head, “Don’t let Cullen hear you say that.  He will press for details.”

          “I’m afraid the details would be too much for our dear Commander’s brain to handle.  I would just end up having to draw him pictures.”

           Before the Ambassador could reply Cassandra strode through the door, her eyes falling on the Left Hand.

          “There you are.”

           The spymaster looked over, “What’s wrong?”

          “Wrong? Nothing is wrong.  I came to inform you that the Inquisitor is back,” she said folding her arms over her chest.

          “Oh?” 

          “And it seems she has brought company.”

           Leliana furrowed her brow, “Company? What do you mean?”

           Cassandra lifted an eyebrow, “You mean you don’t know?”

          “No.”

          “She rode in with a woman.”

          “A woman?”

          “If I were to guess, she looked Rivaini.”

          “What?!”

           Leliana and Josephine shared a glance as the Right Hand sighed heavily.

          “No, it’s not that tart that neither one of you can seem to get enough of...It is a  _ different  _ one.”

           The Spymaster frowned, “She said nothing of bringing a guest in her last report.  It _ is _ a guest, isn’t it?”

          “From the way they had their heads together?... I would assume a very special guest.”

           The Nightingale was on her feet, “Where is she?”

           Cassandra smirked and it was all Leli could do not to wipe it off of her face, “The garden.”

           ***

           She was beautiful.

           Dark cascading curls, fine olive skin, piercing green eyes.  Her clothing was simple, elegant, practical.  Her demeanor was that of a world-wise woman who held herself apart from those who surrounded her.  She was in a word - nonpareil.   

           Even the Spymaster found herself in awe of her winsomeness.  However, the way Trevelyan looked at the woman made her blood boil.

           The Inquisitor looked like a starstruck child.  Where she was normally amiable but aloof, the Free Marcher seemingly hung on every word that came from those perfect lips.  The two stood close, speaking quietly under the arches of the stone gazebo.  Trevelyan said something which caused the woman to laugh, a light twinkling affair that was just as flawless as the rest of her.  It irritated the Nightingale.  However, when she laid a hand on Trev’s forearm during the laugh, Leliana decided it was enough.

           “Inquisitor! There you are,” she announced her presence.

           “Spymaster!” Trev almost looked surprised, the bard fought the urge to slap her, “I was just about to find you.”

           “I’m sure,” she panned, trying to keep any emotion from her tone.

            Trev’s brow furrowed briefly.   _ At least she’s not completely obtuse. _

           “Spymaster, I would like to introduce you to Lady Ophelia de la Navaja.”

            The name gave her pause.  _ Ophelia. _

            She managed to keep the shock and surprise from her features but her tone wasn’t such an easy matter, “A pleasure, my Lady.  I’ve heard much about you.”

            Ophelia’s smile somehow managed to be warm and yet cold at the same time, “I cannot say the same about you...however, your reputation as the Left Hand of the Divine proceeds you.  You’ll forgive Trev, she has always been terrible at proper introductions and manners.”

            Leliana frowned slightly at the words.  “Strange, I wouldn’t say that.  The Inquisitor is virtually renowned for her decorum.”

           “Is that so?” She saw a flash of indignation in the woman’s eyes at being contradicted, “Then you must not  _ know _ our dear Evelyn.  I assure you, she is quite the cad.”

            Every one of her instincts screamed at the exchange.  _ This woman is dangerous. _

           “Then perhaps I have been deceived by our illustrious leader,” she smiled sweetly at Ophelia before locking her gaze onto Trevelyan.  “Perhaps,  _ she isn’t _ at all  _ what she seems. _ ”

            She prayed that Trev would catch on to her subtle allusion.  If the Inquisitor did, she could not tell.  The simpering grin on her face made it impossible to apperceive if she did or not.   _ Maker, don’t let her be a moron. _

           “Perhaps not,” Ophelia agreed.

            The Spymaster breathed an inaudible sigh of relief that Trevelyan’s old mistress missed the entendre.

           “Then I simply must insist that you tell me  _ everything _ about our Inquisitor.  I am just  _ dying _ to know more.”

            Ophelia’s smile was saccharine miasma, “Of course you are.  I would be more than happy to  _ oblige. _ ”

            Leli folded her hands behind her back, returning the sickly expression, “Indeed… Your Worship, if I may have a moment?”

           “Absolutely,” Trevelyan replied, turning to Ophelia she  _ bowed _ .  “If you’ll excuse me, my Lady.”

            Ophelia lifted an eyebrow, a dismissive gesture, but her eyes never left the Left Hand.  Both women held each other’s stare, neither one willing to back down until Trevelyan walked past the spymaster, subtly catching her by the elbow, leading her off out of earshot of Lady de la Navaja.

            “What is she doing here?!” Leli hissed.

            “What do you mean, ‘ _ what is she doing here _ ’- she came to visit.”

            “Came to visit?! When was the last time you heard from her?”

              Trev furrowed her brow, “I don’t know.  I suppose going on eight years…”

            “And that doesn’t strike you as strange?” she growled.

            “Well...no.  Yes? I don’t know.  It’s Ophelia, Leli…” She trailed off, her tone nearly holding a plea.  

             The bard sighed.  She understood Trevelyan’s position on the matter.  Even though Marjolaine was dead, there were still times she found herself holding on tightly to certain memories of her old mistress.  Memories that were still precious to her in a skewed fashion.

            “Yes, I understand but Trev-” her expression softened.  “You don’t know if she is the same person.  Are  _ you _ the same person who you were under her tutelage?” 

             The Inquisitor hesitated, “...no.”

            “Than what makes you think she is?”

             Trevelyan frowned but said nothing in reply.  Leliana wanted to pull her lover close to comfort her, such was the emotional turmoil on her face, but she knew that Ophelia was watching them closely. 

            “When did she contact you?” 

            “She didn’t contact me so much as we ran into her while passing through a small village on the Storm Coast,” she frowned again.

            “I see.”  She looked and saw uncertainty in Trev’s eyes, the expression seemingly foreign in the normally assured orbs.  “Be careful, yes?”

             The Marcher simply nodded. 

             Taking a step back from the Inquisitor, she turned her attention back towards Ophelia, who was indeed watching like a hawk.  Leliana inclined her head politely in the mistress’ direction before turning on her heel and walking away.

_              Maker, help me! I  will free Trevelyan from  _ **_her_ ** _ if it is the last thing I do… _

             ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello My Friend,
> 
> I know - this has been the longest time between updates to date! Needless to say that I am having a bit of difficulty finding the time and perhaps 'motivation' (summer makes everything so much hotter and harder in the desert) to keep doing weekly updates - perhaps I am starting to burn out or perhaps I just need a break.
> 
> So, with that said... I am taking a break. I do not know for how long... Maybe a couple days.. a couple weeks... a couple of months (let's hope not) but I seriously need to scale back on my commitments because I am being stretched way too thin. Besides, I've noticed some 'back seat writing' and that is mildly grating. Therefore, I'm going to go take a break and relax - maybe stretch... decompress - and come back when 'Cantabo' feels less of a 'burden' and more like the labor of love I prefer it to be.
> 
> Until we meet again, my friend! Be safe, be good, be blessed.
> 
> ~Bendithio


	37. Of Teryns and Trevelyans

* * *

          Her gasp of delight sent a shiver down the Inquisitor’s spine.

          “You’ve done well for yourself,” Ophelia nodded in approval as she spun around slowly, taking in the whole of her quarters.  She stopped facing her and leaning close to her ear she purred, “I’m very proud of you.”

          Trev did her very best to keep her skin from pebbling, she took a steadying breath, one of countless many she had taken since the course of the evening had begun.  Ophelia had progressively taken more and more liberty with her since she had arrived and it was all Trevelyan could do to stay focused.

          “I wouldn’t say that I’ve done _well_ for myself, I just happened to have very poor luck.”

          “Mm... or very _good_ luck, from what I’ve heard,” Ophelia traced an elegant finger over the line of her jaw.

          “I suppose that depends on perspective,” she replied.

          Green eyes softened in perfect sympathy, “I am sorry to hear about Eloie.”

          She said nothing, even though her fists clenched behind her back, “Thank you… How did you know?”

          “It was on everyone’s lips in Ostwick.  It was all anyone could talk about for a while.  Even now the subject is on the minds and in the conversations not only of the noble houses but also the Atrium and the Circle.  Eloie was very _beloved._ ”

          Trev’s jaw tightened as a bitter pain she thought long forgotten clawed at the edges of her psyche.   She clenched her fists tighter, “Indeed, she was.”

          Ophelia’s pupils flared ever so slightly.

 _Damn it_.

          “That still bothers you doesn’t it?”

          Trevelyn remained silent, her focus on controlling her posture, her breathing, hell, even the rate of blinking.  Something had either given her away or Ophelia was purposely trying to elicit a response - a _specific_ response.

          Her green eyes danced over Trev’s features, searching.

          “You realize ‘ _what is not spoken_ ’-”

          “-’ _reveals more than what is_ ’, yes I do.”

          “Then should I take your silence to be the answer that I think it to be?”

          “You can take it however you wish, it does not concern me.  What I find more intriguing is: why are you trying to bait me?”

          “Bait you?!” She pouted, “I’m hurt.”

          “Clearly.”

          “Aw, Evey..” She wrapped her hands in the collar of her black formal wear, “I wasn’t baiting you.  I was simply seeing if the Left Hand’s reputation is deserved.”

           It was only because she had spent the better part of a year hiding her relationship with the Spymaster that she was able to contain her reaction, “Why are you interested in my spymaster?”

           “I’m not so interested in her as I am interested in what she has done to you.”

           “Done to me?”

           Ophelia said nothing, she merely swayed side to side gently before turning and walking towards the Inquisitor’s desk, purposefully adding a meaningful swing to her hips.  Trev couldn’t help but notice- they didn’t compare to Leli’s...

          “I’ve been in your company for almost a day and you haven’t tried to get me alone.  And when we are alone, you haven’t tried _anything_.”

          An easy grin lit upon the Marcher’s face but something much darker held it on, “I didn’t know that _we_ still had that sort of relationship.  Killing Tartish and then leaving me to deal with it left the impression that _we_ were over.”

          Ophelia dragged her fingers over the polished wood, lightly rubbing the corner worn from Trevelyan’s boots, “I see that some of your bad habits yet remain.”

          “Or perhaps I keep them simply to remind myself that I am still my own,” Trev’s voice taking on a dangerous joviality.

           Her former mistress played along smiling and giggling.

          “Don’t be silly, Evey,” the laughter died away but the smile remained.  “You were _never_ your _‘own’_.  First, you were your parents and then Tartish’s.  Though, really, we know whose you were.”  She winked.  “Then married to your Father’s business, only to be snatched away by the Left and Right Hands of the Divine after merciful Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade.”

          “Andraste didn’t save me, the Divine did.”

          “That’s like comparing a Rivaini red to an Antivan...it’s the same damn grapes,” she snorted.  “The point is Evelyn, now you are Thedas’.  You are their only hope and so not only do you belong to the Hands of the Divine, you also belong to the world.”

           Her jaw ached from how hard she had been clenching it.  Every word digging deeper into her mind, adding to her fear that she was not valued and wanted for who she was, rather what purpose she could serve.  Ophelia came back around her desk, stalking towards the Inquisitor.

          “I know how this must _frustrate_ and _upset_ you.”  She stopped short, lips centimeters from Trevelyan’s and whispered, “Tell me, does she know how to ease your _discomfort_?”

           Trev barely breathed, despite the fact her heart was thudding painfully against her ribs.  Memories from the past flooded her mind.  Images of Ophelia’s many _comforts_ tumbling over each other each one vying for her attention.  All the different ways she had had the Rivaini.  All the ways the Rivaini had conquered her.  But each one punctuated by memories of Leliana, her smile, her laugh, the way she would whisper words of love and endearment in Orlesian when she thought Trev was asleep… Trev shook her head once to clear her mind.

           “I can assure you, I am very _comforted_ ,” she replied evenly.  “Now, tell me why you have sought me out, Ophelia.”

           The woman’s eyes never left the Inquisitor’s face; endless green pools looking for a chink, a break in her armor - a way in.  

           “I’m here at the behest of a growing collective of people that believe it is time that northern Thedas was united and _you_ are the one who can do so.”

           Trevelyan frowned, “Since when have the Free Marches wanted anything else _but_ their independence?  The name should say enough.”

           “That time is past, Inquisitor or have you not seen all that has happened in just the last ten years.  Thedas is changing and not all of us are entirely convinced it is for the better.  Unity is our only hope to stand against Orlais and Ferelden.  Even if you do manage to defeat the Elder One - what is next?  Gaspard is on the throne and he will have war.”

           “No, he won’t-”

           “Gaspard and Tartish are cut from the same cloth and you expect me to believe that?!” Ophelia snapped, her eyes becoming cold.

           “True, they may have a similar mindset but I can assure you that Gaspard has been leashed.”

           “Are you so sure?” Ophelia’s tone bordered on menacing.

           “No one can be _sure_ about anything - but I have it on very good authority that he won’t be a problem.”

           “Whose?”

           “Mine.”

            She had expected Ophelia to laugh at her words, instead a look of respect and even pride crossed her countenance, “And that is why we need you as Teryn of Ostwick.”

           “Teryn?  You must be joking.”

           “I am not.  Your cousin, Corvas has already united what is left of the Ostwick Circle and has brought several interested parties to the banner of a united Northern Thedas.”

           Trevelyan laughed, “Cousin Corvas?  He’s been nothing but a rabble rouser and troublemaker from the start.”

           “He is a visionary,” Ophelia’s tone became defensive.

           “He is an arrogant fool.”

           “You are the only _fool_ Trevelyan.”

           This stopped her short.  The look in Ophelia’s eyes and the near vitriol of her words wasn’t what she remembered of the woman.  No, something was different about her.  Something she did not trust.  She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a knock at her door followed by the sound of it opening slightly.

           “Inquisitor?”

            She didn’t recognize the voice, “What is it?”

           “Pardon the interruption but your presence is requested.”

           “By whom?” She called back.

           “I-uh...I would rather not say.  I mean- I’m under orders not to say,” the messenger sounded nervous.

            Trevelyan sighed and looked at Ophelia, “If you’ll pardon me - I will only be a moment.”

            The Rivaini seemed to have cooled somewhat from her earlier state, she nodded, “Of course.”

            For the first time ever, Trevelyan was hesitant to turn her back on Ophelia.  Something felt off but she could not figure the source of the unease.  Perhaps it was because she was in her old mistress’ company again after so many years or perhaps it was because she was in love with someone else - either way - the whole situation was starting to feel very wrong.  

              Trev tried to push the thought away as she started towards the stairs saying a small prayer of thanks for the timely reprieve.

            ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friend,
> 
> I wanted to get this chapter up (at least the first part - it is in two parts) while the non-stop roller coaster of my summer was at a lull. Hahaha, I'm glad I decided on a break - you would not believe all the 'issues' I've had to deal with in the past week. Not the least of which included a massive plumbing fix. *sighs* Hopefully, I'll get back to updating routinely in short order but I can make no promises :) Anyone else notice that the world seems to be spinning faster and faster towards some sort of catastrophe? Hahaha I hope not - but even my day to day has become ridiculous.
> 
> Anyhow - I hope this update finds you well my friend. I hope you are enjoying your time and I pray you find yourself smiling more often than not. 
> 
> Until we meet again - be safe.
> 
> ~Bendithio


	38. The Sailor Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem.. *clears throat, taps mic* This thing on? 
> 
> Hello again, my friend.
> 
> I know, it's been such a very long time. I'm sure that you might be feeling any number of feelings about my posting. I do apologize for the wait. Life took a few inteteresting turns, many of them downward but as of late - they are moving upwards again. So, with that in mind, I decided to take some of my new found freedom and time to try and finish up these fics up. 
> 
> I noticed I had several notices in my inbox... I have not gotten around to reading these... I may or may not respond to them since it's been a hot minute *cringes* but I do always appreciate them :) This update is a little short but I figured I should probably just get the ball rolling again - dust off both the hamster and wheel and dive back in.. hopefully it will lead back into some sort of rhythm. Anyhow...
> 
> Be gentle, it's been a long time ;)
> 
> -Bendithio

     She expected to see the messenger when she stepped from her room into the tower passage way but all she found a raven that had taken up residence in ramshackled belfry.  She had begun to wonder if it was one of Leliana’s and she still hadn’t decided if she really wanted to know the answer.  Trev decided to leave well enough alone as she made her way down to the throne room.

     Only a few torches and coal braziers burned, casting a soft but flickering glow about the room, the dancing shadows playing tricks on the eyes.  She didn’t see anyone but her senses told her she wasn’t alone, “Hello?”

     “You know,” A sultry voice came from the direction of the Inquisitor’s Throne, a long buckled leather boot hugging a sculpted leg was slung over the arm of it, “If I had gotten myself a proper throne, like this one, when I was Queen of the Eastern Seas - I bet I would still be one.”

     “One, what?”

     “Queen,” Isabela sighed.  “It’s good to be queen.”

     Trev lifted a bemused eyebrow as she folded her arms over her chest and sauntered around to the front of the dais and nodded towards the pirate, “Comfortable?”

     Isabela was sprawled sideways across the dark wood of seat, her back half resting against the arm opposite the one occupied by her leg.  Her other foot rested flat on the floor, giving Trev an unobstructed view Isabela’s sheer, white unmentionables.  The salacious sailor stretched slightly backwards, in a purposefully provocative manner before righting herself demurely, “Yes, thank you.”

     “So, how can I help you this evening, Captain?”

     “First of all,” Isabela stood and walked towards Trev, “I am an admiral not a captain.”

     “My apologies,  _ admiral _ .”

     “Accepted,” she smiled before reaching out to straighten Trev’s lapel, despite there not being a need for it.  “And as for the reason why I called you... I am here to offer you my services.”

     Trev arched her left brow, “As the admiral of the Inquisition’s imaginary fleet?”

     Isabela laughed, a melodious tantalizing affair, stepping a bit closer. “No my dear, but wouldn’t it be great work if you could get it?  I am offering you more of a  _ personal _ touch.  I’m offering to work as an agent for you and your Inquisition.”

     “In what capacity?”

     “In  _ any _ capacity you would like.  Ask your Spymaster, she can attest to my  _ many _ talents.”

     Between the Rivaini’s close proximity and barrage of innuendo, it was getting hard for her to concentrate. 

     “Of that I’m sure,” Trev managed. “If that is the case, why aren’t you speaking to Leliana on the issue?”

     “I have some information about your friend up there,” she nodded her head back in the direction of the door leading to Trev’s tower.  “And while I would love to _give_ _it_ to your Spymaster, I wanted to _give it_ to you first.”

     Trev had to appreciate Isabela’s relentless sexuality, she hadn’t seen anything quite like it.  

     “Very well, what is _it_?”

     The duelist remained standing close to Trev, nearly leaning into her as she continued to fiddle with the Inquisitor’s lapel, keeping her voice low.

     “Since she returned to Rivain after her husband’s death-” 

     “Her husband?”

     Isabela looked confused, “For someone you seem very  _ familiar _ with, I’m surprised you didn’t know she was married.”

     Trev said nothing, not trusting herself to speak for a moment.  Her time with Tartrish came flooding back to her, little things that happened and behaviors between Ophelia and the knife happy Grand Tourney champion suddenly made sense.  Her stomach turned but she kept her composure.

     “Yeah… she never mentioned it.”

     Isabela rolled her eyes in sympathy, “Most bored, rich housewives don’t when they go looking for a diversion.”

_      Diversion _ .  The word tore something inside of her. 

    “What do you mean?”

     “If the scuttlebutt is to be believed, her husband had a reputation for being cruel but she was the driving force behind it.  Those who knew Champion Tartrish insist that before he met his young wife, he had been a very amicable…”

     Trev watched as Isabela’s luscious lips continued to move but she couldn’t make out a word she was saying.  All the pieces began to fall into place and whatever grip Ophelia had on her fell away, an indifferent antagonism took its place.  She came back to herself in time to hear the end of the Rivaini pirate’s story.

     “...After his death, she returned to Rivain and lived handsomely on the money he left her.  She used it to try a secure herself a marriage of status but no one seemed to ‘satisfy’ her.  She eventually began traveling to Ostwick again, trying to marry into prominence and prestige.”

     “That explains how she got entangled with Corvas.  He was always just on this side of desperate and desperately unlucky with the ladies,” Trev groused.  “Those two are perfect for each other.”

     Isabela grinned, “Then I suppose I don’t need to tell you that she is here to try and rock  _ your _ boat so that she can use you rock  _ the _ boat in the Free Marches.”

     “That does sound like something she would do,” Trevelyan sighed.  Mind made up, she looked at Isabela.  “Thank you, Isabela.  I appreciate this information.”

     A wry grin landed on the duelist face, “Call me Bela and you’re welcome.  So, do I get the job?”

     Trev furrowed her brow, “I don’t see why not.  You will serve under the Spymaster.”

     The pirate smirked, “I don’t mind that at all but I would be remiss if I didn’t say I would much rather find out what it’s like to serve under  _ you. _  In fact, I was just discussing it with your ambassador last night.”

    “You were...what?”

    “Discussing you or more precisely, what we would both like to do  _ with _ you.  Of course, we also agreed that if you wanted to bring Sister Nightingale along, we wouldn’t oppose that either.”

    Slightly taken aback, Trev opened her mouth to reply but found her lips captured in a brief but passionate kiss from the Rivaini.  When Isabela broke away, she stepped back and grinned, “Now you can never say I played favorites.”

    With that the duelist turned on her heel and sashayed away with a wave of a hand over her shoulder, “Sweet dreams, Inquisitor.”

    Trevelyan watched her walk away, thoughts jumbled together.  The only thing she really knew for certain was she had never known who Ophelia was and she certainly didn’t know now. 

    Leli had been right.

_     Damn it! _

***


	39. Of Betrayal and Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello...again!
> 
> See? I returned and within a reasonable amount of time! Hahaha watch it, I might start making this a habit since I've given my bad ones and started replacing them with good ones :) 
> 
> Here's to healthy habits and you having a wonderful week, my friend ;)
> 
> ***

     A steady drizzle fell from the slick grey sky.  Occasionally, thunder rumbled its way through the peaks and valleys around Skyhold.  It was a terrible day to be traveling, thus making Ophelia’s early morning departure even stranger. Leliana watched from the rookery as Trev’s former mistress and her entourage left.  

     Glancing down towards the right, she could see the Inquisitor standing, arms crossed watching as well from the entrance balcony.  She didn’t seem to mind as the cold rain soaked into her clothes, remaining stationary until the latticed gate shut behind the carriages before turning on her heel and striding back inside, Leliana mirroring her actions.

     Undoing the clasp to her hood and removing it, the spymaster returned to her desk and the limited but incredibly important missive on it: _Samson and forces in Arbor Wilds._

     She had already dispatched a team lead by Harding to verify the report, if it was true - the Inquisition would be in a very good position to deal a blow to Corypheus.  However, something told her that Trevelyan might not be in such a good position as to strike.  She needed to know what had transpired between the Inquisitor and Ophelia before deciding the best way to proceed and to do that she needed to find Tamlasan.

     Leliana had saved the elf from highwaymen outside of Redcliffe.  Tamla had been so grateful that she had pledged herself in service to the Left Hand.  Of course, Leliana didn’t want a servant but was always looking for another set of eyes and ears; when the Inquisition was formed, Leli had sent for her.  She had proven quite useful not only as a cook’s assistant but also as one of a half dozen domestic spies within Skyhold’s walls.

     “Good morning, Sister Leliana.  I’ve brought you some tea.”

     Tamlasan’s quiet voice interrupted her thoughts pulling Leli back to the moment and the lithe elf that stood patiently at the head of the steps, waiting to be called forward.

     “I was just thinking about you!  Please come forward.  I told you we are friends, yes?  There is no reason for you to stand on formality with me.”

     She moved quickly to the desk, silently setting a tray on it without so much as a rattle of ceramic or silver.  Tamla had laid out the service with a small bowl of honey and a small pitcher of milk on the side.  Steam was still rising from the spout of the teapot.

     “It’s perfect, thank you. Do you have something to report?”

     The elf bobbed her head once, “Yes, Sister. I did as you bade me and I kept a watch on Inquisitor Trevelyan’s guest.  Nothing was amiss until last night when she and the Inquisitor retired to the Inquisitor’s private chambers...”

     Leliana was surprised at how the agent’s words made her blood boil.  She chastised herself for getting too close.   _Get it together, Leliana._

     “What happened in the quarters?” she asked, her voice thankfully not betraying her.

     “I don’t know, I was making my way to the secret passage when the pirate woman that has been hanging around Lady Josephine came sauntering in looking for the Inquisitor.  I told her I would summon Lady Trevelyan and I did.  I couldn’t stay after I had to hide so I didn’t hear what they talked about but after the woman left, the Inquisitor went back upstair and returned a few minutes later, escorting her guest out.”

     A strange mixture of worry and relief flooded through Leliana.  Relief that the Rivaini aristocrat hadn’t been in Trev’s quarters long enough for anything to _happen_ and at the same time, concerned as to what Isabela could have possibly said to Trev to make her toss Ophelia out of her chambers.

     She sighed, “Thank you, Tamlasan.  It would appear I need to speak with our other Rivaini guest.”

 

***

     The former Queen of the Eastern Seas had taken up sailing a stool at the Herald’s Rest when she wasn’t otherwise occupied with Josie.  Leliana had been meaning to ask her longtime friend _what_ exactly was the nature of their relationship but had put it off, figuring Isabela had most likely turned her considerable charms on the hopelessly romantic Antivan, sweeping her up with tales of the exotic and (knowing Isabela) erotic.

     “Well, look who it is!  It’s a bit early for you isn’t it, kitten?”  Isabela said as Leliana took up the stool next to the duelist, signaling the keep for her usual.

     “Hardly, it wouldn’t be the first time I had a drink before midday.  I highly doubt it will be the last with you around.”

      Isabela laughed, “I doubt I’m the one making you drink.  I would lay my money on that Inquisitor of yours.  She seems rather tightly _wound_ .  I went over to offer my _services_ to her and the Inquisition and she hardly batted an eye.”

      “Perhaps, it was in the the way you presented it?”

      Isabela looked offended, “Presentation?  I assure you, my pretty little thing, my _presentation_ was fine.  I just don’t think she liked what I had to say about her friend.”

      “Oh?”

      “You know, she even suggested that I tell you,” Isabela rolled her head to meet the spymaster’s gaze, “But I told her anyway.”

      “What did you tell her?”

      “That 'Lady _'_ Ophelia is connected with some very scandalous rumors back in Rivain.  There’s more than one bored noble that whispers about how she killed her husband Champion Tartrish for his estate and is now trying to marry again for power and influence-”

      “Did you say ‘husband’?” Leli interrupted.

      Isabela frowned, “Funny, Trevelyan asked the same thing.”

      Suddenly, everything about Ophelia’s sudden departure made sense and while the Spymaster was ever so happy that she was gone, she knew that learning the truth about Ophelia’s relationship to Tartrish had most likely wounded Trev in a way that many could not possibly understand… which couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time.

     “Poor Trev,” she muttered.

     “Poor Trev?  What about ‘poor Isabela’?  After I kissed her, all I could think about the rest of the evening were those _lips_ and where I would like for her to put them…”  Isabela trailed off, eyes widening a fraction as she caught sight of the look the Spymaster leveled at her.  “Well, look at the time!  I’ve got to be off, I promised Varric I would play a game of Wicked Grace with him.  Nice chat, talk again soon, tah!”  

     With that the Rivaini pirate made a hasty exit towards the door.

     Leli counted to fifty before pushing her drink away and leaving the tavern as well. Stepping into the rain, she headed towards the undercroft- the most likely place for the rogue would be.  She needed to find Trev and figure out the extent of damage that the abrupt revelation of lies and betrayal had done to the Free Marcher.  She hoped it wasn’t much.  Leli remembered how her own heart, mind and body had been shattered by Marjolaine’s betrayal.  She had run away to Lothering and had found Dorothea, who _had_ saved her, if truth be told.  Dorothea had restored her faith and trust to her by her companionship and love.  The bond they formed was deeply intimate in ways she had never experienced with Marjolaine despite having been the Bardmaster’s lover.  

     If she were being honest with herself, she knew that Trev would need something similar to recover from her old mistress’ long hidden betrayal.  Given her position as Inquisitor, there were very few people around her that could even begin to offer that to her and out of all of those, Leliana knew she was the one who could truly understand and relate to Trevelyan.  But, more than all of that, she _wanted_ to…

     She stopped dead in her tracks at her own admission, her heart speeding up:  _Have I fallen in love?_

***


End file.
